Reading, Writing and Arithmetic

Now before you start thinking this is dedicated to The Sundays, I’ve just nicked the title (even though this has nothing at all to do with maths, hateful, diabolical numbers) so you can stop singing in your head in a demented manner. Oh, that was me. If you were to pick a soundtrack to your life, however, you could do worse.

In my dream life, I live with my family in a castle built by the zillions I have earned from writing ten best-selling books a year. Picture a wardrobe, two, three, twenty, full of Lovely Shoes, where Pugs and cats adorned with bejewelled collars frolic around the vast, manicured gardens of said castle. In my real life, I live with my family in a house by the sea, and work with words as a freelance journalist/writer/web writer/copy writer/editor – which I love, but is sadly lacking in fame and fortune. Picture a wardrobe with scant Lovely Shoes and an arthritic, smelly old Boxer dog and cats chasing each other around the kitchen. Here’s where the story ends. For the moment.