Saturday, February 03, 2007

Malteasers, Neil Gaiman and slick moves.

1. In the afternoon, Ellie produces bags of Malteasers for the three of us, and we spend twenty minutes happily crunching (or sucking the chocolate off and then crunching in my case).

2. 'There's some post for you,' said Fenella on the way back from the restaurant. 'A postcard and some magazines. Nothing important. Do you want them?' Last time she handed me some post, it went straight in the litter bin on the High Street.
But I caught sight of the signature on the postcard and gasped.
'What? What is it?'
Gasp.
'What is it?'
'Neil Gaiman. Neil Gaiman?'
'Who is Neil Gaiman?'
'SandmanCoralineMirrormaskNeverwhereAmericanGodsWriter.'
'Clare, please breathe. You have to breathe.'
So between hysterics, I explained I had been sending letters to writers I admire; and that Neil Gaiman had sent me an encouraging handwritten postcard.

3. Andy and Fenella showing off their dancing -- they demonstrated a complicated cross-over which looked fantastic. And hearing Katie telling the stories behind the moves -- 'He's pushed you a bit too hard, so you need to get him back by wiggling your hips at every other man on the dancefloor.'