A knees up in London
The Romantic Novelists Association hold two parties a year, a winter party and a summer one. As they are an excellent opportunity to meet the people I otherwise only ‘see’ on Twitter – or the front cover of books – I always aim to attend. The fact that drink and canapés are always involved, and lots of book chat, is of course only a minor consideration…
This year I nearly didn’t make it. In my usual style, I remembered to book my ticket two weeks before (quite organised, I thought) only to find they were sold out. But I was helpfully slotted onto a waiting list, and one member’s bad luck became my fortune. Out came the sparkly top (come on, when else am I going to get the chance to wear it?) and the heels. Not always a wise choice given there is a bit of walking to do to get to the venue, but at least I could cadge a lift to the station from my son. When I first started going to these events my sons didn’t drive. Now they’re becoming useful, the eldest has already sloped off to uni, this one plans to follow next year. Remind me again why I had children?
I digress. Off I trooped to the library at One Birdcage Walk. A very apt venue for a party of writers.
There I drank; wine, pink fizz. I ate; sausages on sticks, mini halloumi burgers, tuna…things, cream cheese…things (now you can see why my books aren’t filled with vivid descriptive text). I also talked to some lovely writers, some I’d met before, some I’d only met ‘virtually.’ Here I am with the amazing Berni Stevens who not only designs the Choc Lit covers but also writes, too (thanks to John Jackson for the photo). And also drinking pink fizz with Helen Rolfe (who comes under the lovely writer category).
So it’s not all writing, writing, writing, being a writer. Sometimes it’s party, party party