On the road again...

Smiley readers, failed hair straighteners, unexpected men in pyjamas

Normal service will be slightly altered as for the next six weeks I am mostly travelling – in Switzerland, Germany, America and the UK - to promote We All Live Here. I’m not going to be doing writing tips but writing about what I’m up to on the promotional trail. Mostly wardrobe mishaps, existential crises and dog-missing. For those of you who are paid subscribers, if you’re only here for the writing tips I’ll happily pause your subscriptions. But I hope this will be illuminating too.

I get terrible anxiety before I tour; I’m not alone in this. When it became particularly bad a couple of years ago I spoke to some other writers – household names - who told me they experienced it too. I’m not a hundred per cent sure why it happens, but we decided it was a combination of things – the strange sense of dislocation that comes with being in constant motion (in the US it’s not unusual to be flying every day), the fact that most writers are probably more introverted than extroverted, and yet we now perform on stages to large audiences, the fear of saying something in an interview that will get us cancelled. The weirdness of talking about yourself on a daily basis. And just a kind of existential loneliness. I used to get excited about hotel rooms; now there is nothing I value more than my own bed (I can picture it as I write, the exact softness of my mattress topper, the heaviness of my duvet, the soft noses of my dogs; basically I am now at Peak Bed in the satisfaction stakes).

I would very happily live in this room (though I did miss having a headboard)

Before this makes me sound like too much of a miserabilist, last night I was reminded why I do it. I arrived in Zurich, at the Widder Hotel, and my room was like a ship’s cabin, covered in wood paneling, and had a view of the rooftops which was completely charming. Plus, you know, Swiss chocolate. So I was already feeling cheerful. I had decided to do this leg of the tour hand luggage only; two suits, one jumpsuit, and a handful of tops. We will see how well this lasts, but I had completely forgotten how warm stage lights can be – and how weirdly hot I get during signings, especially when standing repeatedly for photographs. Apologies if you posed for a picture with me last night and burnt your fingers on the heat literally radiating through my shirt. I am getting through clothes at twice the rate I had banked on; by the time I get to Hamburg I may well be performing in my hotel bathrobe (more on this later).