English rain feels obligatory, like paperwork. It dampens already damn days and slicks the stones.

A pause while my mother made high-pitched sisterly devotions of gratitude.

I've heard people on panels say, 'You must have a Web site. You need to tweet. Repeat the title of your book constantly,' and I just want to say, 'Shut up. Everything you're saying is wrong.' People will know instantly if your only motivation for tweeting is to sell books.

Oh, the ongoing love affair between hair and mouths. Hair always goes for the mouth. The mouth opens, and hair says, "I'm going in! I'm going in!" like a manic cave diver.

I had one class in the morning, the mysteriously named "Further Maths". It was two hours long and so deeply frightening that I think I went into a trance.

Nothing was quite like it was supposed to be.

It was like the entire world was colluding to make me feel insane, and it was doing a really good job.