Family, Friends, Caroline and Gary

Well I finally met the wonderful Caroline and family. Unfortunately I missed the reading because Rebecca had arranged to meet a friend for a drink. (Glare) That said I have to take some of the blame as I thought the signing would be first and the reading later. (Glare muted)

Neither did I spend as much time chatting with Caroline as I would have wished. She was working so had to spread her favours around - in the best possible taste. Rebecca and I did, however, have a long, interesting chat with Gary. (The mad idiot promised he would read my MS in its present unfinished, chaotic form if I e-mailed it to him.)

I do miss London. Allow me to list what happened in the space of that evening.

At the pub, when we should have been listening to Caroline's reading, I met Rebecca's friend Carl, (or Karl), who I had met before. Rebecca mentioned that I had written the original AIDS campaign, 'Don't Die of Ignorance'.

Carl says, "But it is in the bible of advertising", or some such.

I nod sagely. Carl insists it is the air that he breathed, the oxygen that nurtured him as a young, aspirant writer. I again nod sagely.

Rebecca, budding agent, says, "Do you use freelancers?"

Carl, "Sure, the one we have at the moment is crap."

Rebecca, super-agent, "My Dad could use the work."

"Sounds great, perhaps, with his reputation, he could pull in work."

I nod sagely, now knowing the poor boy is completely deluded. As Rebecca says, "Perhaps people won't remember him." I barely remember where my bottom is, though I do know the clue is within the word.

Later, at the launch, Gary suddenly calls me over, "Meet Ms so-and-so, she is a publisher."

I meet Ms So-and-so, publisher, my first. I explain, utilising my best rehearsed repertoire pulled from the drawer marked Modest, my book will sell millions, she will be so rich she will grow tired of deciding which pool to swim in before breakfast and, by the way, my initials were, in truth, J. K.

She nods sagely.

I could tell I had made the right impression.

Such potent opportunities don't drip from casual conversations in Brighton. Drugs, yes, opportunities, no.

The joy of my sojourn in t'smoke, as Gary, being as a northerner might express (ha! ha!), was seeing Emily and family. I spent three nights with them, I use the word night lightly, young Katie had a cold so most nights consisted of 45 minutes sleep interrupted by three hours of attempts to soothe the poor, snot-ridden little bundle. But she is a joy and inklings of character are peeping through the sneezes.

Dear Amy, dear, new schoolgirl Amy, has so much character she could lease 90% of it out to the American banks in a successful rescue bid and still retain her individuality.

One example: on the bus going to the Tube from where I will leave to go back to Rebecca in North London, Mum starts chatting to another young mum. Amy's Mum, towards the end of the journey, repeats a confidence made by Amy in the car the last time the family came to visit me here in Brighton.

Amy in confidence then, "Mummy, I do love Granddad."

Amy now, "SHUT UP, Mummy!"

Bless her hot, embarrassed, little cotton socks.