K-Middy’s hair extensions. Not. I’ve seen more natural looking curls on Barbie

OK so my books are never going to win the Man Booker Prize…. but this year’s judge Stella Rimmington has come under flak from the literary establishment for wanting “readability” from the entries. I may have failed half my GCSEs and driving test first time, but am I missing something here? You READ books to get pleasure out of them, therefore READability is key. Who are these people? What do they actually DO with their books if they don’t rate reading them? Use them to swat flies? Build giant houses to crawl into and bemoan anyone who actually likes to understand their books? Gah, what a bloody waste of time and sensibility. There’s nothing literary about this lot in my opinion. Maybe they should dip their frigid toes into a bonkbuster and loosen up every now and again.

PS Well done for winning Julian Barnes. And once describing the Man Booker as “posh bingo”.

2 Shoes I’ll love you forever

Today I started my new book. Woo hoo! The week before getting down to a new tome is always filled with excitement (about writing again) and fear (I can’t write!), but once I’m off the starting blocks there’s no looking back. With writing it’s kind of like training for a marathon without the hideous 26 miles at the end. There will be no socialising, no mid week white wine drinking, no daily browsing on ASOS. My mind is a lean, mean composing machine. I’m locking myself away from the world to escape into my new creation, the fabulous Cotswolds town of Beeverham. It’s not too far from C-Minster so a few old faces will be popping up, but I’m looking forward to writing about a whole load of new characters. While I am currently homeless at the mo and sleeping on a pavement near you, it will be a joy to call Beeversham home. So I’m off, into a sunbaked world of champagne garden parties and lots more hot men. It’s tough. I’ll only be coming out of my hermit cave once a week on Saturdays, for Strictly and X Factor. Oh, then there’s Sunday shows. And Escape to The Country. And loads of the random rubbish progs about celebrities, serial killers and animals I like to alternate between…

*has remote forcibly wrestled from grasp*

I had serious doubts about this woman. Too American, I said; too religious and so not fun at all. What on earth is Simon Cowell doing?…. Seriously? She is the BEST thing about X Factor. Tulisa, you’re so dead to me. But Kelly! So amazing! SO fun! Such a lovely glossy fringe! I’ll even forgive her for not wheeling out a pregnant Beyonce at the judges houses and giving us Jennifer Hudson instead. If I was in a fight, I’d want Kelly on my side. Those guns. She rocks. End of. The er, end.

All I want is a patch of grass to chew mum’s slippers and bury my toys under. That’s not too much to ask, is it? The woman masquerading as my legal guardian has sold our flat WITHOUT finding somewhere else to move in to – what a drongo – and we are currently being shuffled round friends and family until she can find us a palace worthy of my canine needs. Last night I had to stay at her boyfriend’s place – which has horrible wood floors I kept skidding on and a bar in the living room. I am SPECIAL, I cannot go on like this. Will someone please find me a house to live in *waves RSPCA leaflet at anyone who looks at me*

As worn by the delectably dishy Gary, THE hottest pin up in Britain right now and a man who can do no wrong in my eyes. I’ve been hinting to the other half about growing some autumn face furniture….