Their Friendship Was Like A Wilted Bunch

And Then She Frowned, And Shook Her Head, Then Put Her Arms Around Him Once More, Pressing Her Face Into His Shoulder, Making A Noise That Sounded Almost Like Rage. 'what's Up?' He Asked. 'nothing. Oh, Nothing. Just...' She Looked Up At Him. 'i Thought I'd Finally Got Rid Of You.' 'i Don't Think You Can.' He Said

She Used To Pride Herself On Her Refusal To See Two Sides Of An Argument, But Increasingly She Accepts That Issues Are More Ambiguous And Complicated Than She Once Thought.

The Trick Of It, She Told Herself, Is To Be Courageous And Bold And Make A Different. Not Change The World Exactly, Just The Bit Around You. Go Out There With Your Double-first, Your Passion And Your New Smith Carona Electric Typewriter And Work Hard At ... Something. Change Lives Through Art Maybe. Write Beautifully. Cherish Your Friends, Stay True To Your Principles, Live Passionately And Fully And Well. Experience New Things. Love And Be Loved If At All Possible. East Sensibly. Stuff Like That.

The True Writer, The Born Writer, Will Scribble Words On Scraps Of Litter, The Back Of A Bus Tickets, On The Wall Of A Cell.

I Had Made This Mistake Once Before, On A School Trip To The Victoria And Albert Museum, When I Followed A Sign Marked Women, Thinking It Was An Exhibition On The Changing Roles Of Women In Society, And Actually Ended Up Standing In The Ladies' Toilets.