I had afternoon tea on Saturday with a bloody who’s who of women’s fiction. I was surrounded by greats! And cake. Scones. Pots of berryish stuff. It was actual heaven.
I loved it; every second of it, every shared author story, every scone crumb, every witch-like cackle.
But I felt naughty all the way through cos I had not shaved my armpits. Or my legs. I’d been in London three days and forgotten my razor.
I don’t know why – and my feminist side would deplore this statement – but it feels wrong to attend a fabulous afternoon tea while hirsuit. I just felt that none of the other authors there would have arrived thus.
And then Katy Regan – my dear, wonderful Katy Regan – said to me, quite casually, ‘I haven’t shaved my armpits.’ Without my even mentioning my concealed hairiness.
I laughed, made a reciprocal confession and had a piece of carrot cake.
A perfect afternoon. Thank you Regan. I love you.