No pen

Lunchtime. I nipped out, intending to grab a coffee and try and get my writing groove back (fiction writing, not blog writing) and then I remembered that I keep forgetting that someone stole my pen. It could be worse – I gave the pen up while drunk and almost gave up my credit card and ridiculously unfraudproof signature with it.

Still, no pen means no fiction, which means here’s a blog piece instead. It’s World Book Day, so I’m going to write about …


Linking music and boys always makes me think of cheesy wedding first dance tracks or teenage girls and their prom memories, but I’ve never yet been with a guy and not ended up associating him with a particular track.

Take, for instance, the guy I liked in my last job. He had this awful little Toyota MR2, and in the early days of our friendship, when everything was still exciting and promising as hell, he texted one Saturday morning: ‘Fancy a day out?’

Fuck yeah.

We went here. It was a great day – we went on a boat on the lake, admired the view from Ruskin’s bedroom window and he introduced me to the total joy that is brie, bacon and cranberry toasted sandwiches. But what I remember most of all is that, on the drive there, when the sun was shining on the mountains, and we were bouncing over potholes in his rusty death trap, this is what was playing:

One thought on “No pen

  1. Pingback: Scratch and sniff | Sex blog (of sorts)

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