What doesn't kill us makes us funnier.

In an unpredictable and unpleasant world it was both unusual and very pleasant to hear what I wanted to hear.

Love is blind, there was no doubt about it. In Tara's case it was also deaf, dumb, dyslexic, had a bad hip and the beginnings of Alzheimer's

Do I mind being called a chick-lit writer? Well, it's not the worst thing that could happen.

For all of my life it was the size of my rear that caused me the most hand-wringing, but in this nearly-50 zone it is my stomach that is the problem. It seems to have broken free from its moorings and there is no knowing how far it will roam.

Baking makes me focus. On weighing the sugar. On sieving the flour. I find it calming and rewarding because, in fairness, it is sort of magic - you start off with all this disparate stuff, such as butter and eggs, and what you end up with is so totally different. And also delicious.

It was only when the salt water of my tears ran into my cuts and made them sting that I discovered I was crying.