Some writers are mad, you know. Mad, mad, I tell you! Mwhahwhahahaha!! Fortunately for you, I am not one of them!

All right, I know I promised not to go on about these award thingies but, you know, I don't get out much otherwise... and it's London, and I get to wear a frock, and meet people to whom I am not related by blood or financial obligation!  So, anyway.  This coming Thursday me, my wellingtons and my unsuitable hair will be parading around the Overseas League and applauding the winner of the Romantic Novel of the Year! And then, in June, me, my collection of various and intriguing skin conditions and my even more unsuitable hair will be repeating the procedure for the Melissa Nathan Award!

There.  It's all right, I've stopped talking about it now.  I just wanted to remind you, in case you'd had a blow to the head or some of your special little pills and had forgotten.

What, you thought I didn't know?

 Because I'm not the sort of person that usually gets to go to these kind of things, so a little thing like getting a Big Purple Invitation to the Melissa Nathan awards is quite something.  The last time I got a Big Purple Invitation I think I was probably about seven and it was to Nicola Coleman's birthday party (it's all right, you aren't meant to know who she is, unless you went to St David's JM&I, Dinham Road, where I occasionally manned the tuck shop and the girls' toilets used to flood in moments of high rainage).  Anyway.  So.  I have my invitations, and now you all know about them, so it's no good them denying all knowledge when I turn up wearing the dining room lampshade and a pair of big boots.  They only have themselves to blame.

It has to be quite a high-risk activity, inviting writers to things.  Most of us are either as mad as a box of spoons, or very, very shy, which accounts for why an awful lot of literary events involve half the participants trying to find an unoccupied corner to sit in and the other half talking to the tablecloths. I am sure there must be some normal writers out there, who can hold normal conversations and take themselves to the toilet, indeed, I myself have met a few of these paragons at conventions and signings.  Some of my best friends are quite sane and sensible authors, in fact.  Most of the others, though, phew, you wouldn't want to meet them on a dark night when you didn't have your bucket with you...  Although, to be fair, they can do the Lambada like nobody's business and their 'Elephant stuck in quicksand' sound-effects are second to none.

They do terrific 'vole' impersonations too.  Next time you meet a writer, why not ask them to show you?  Just remember, punching you on the nose is a writer's way of showing affection...

Anyway.  That's where I shall be on Thursday. Mixing with the lovely ladies of the RNA, only some of who will be making elephant noises and talking to the tablecloths.  If you like, you can have a go at guessing which ones. I couldn't possibly comment...