I went into London today. To the infamous Ivy Club in the West End, which is for members only - no, I'm not a member, but the literary agent I was meeting does enjoy that distinction, which is apparently by 'invitation only' - and having dismissed tales I'd heard of dot-to-dot celebrities hanging out there, was actually rather astonished to find that it was no exaggeration.
I had a lovely conversation in the ladies toilet there - just the one rather small toilet, albeit with beautiful decor, as they obviously expect even celebrities to queue - with someone whose face I recognised instantly. But the name, of course ... well, it will come to me, but she's a well-known actress ... or maybe presenter ... or ...
I obviously need to start reading Hello magazine or something. I'm useless at celebrity-spotting. Should get my head out of a book and watch more telly.
Anyway, following my hour-long conversation with this chap, which was tremendously jolly and involved words like 'exciting' and 'excellent' being applied to my latest writing project, I can now announce that I have a literary agent again.
Some revisions to do, then I may have further good news. For now, it's enough to note that I am a very happy bunny.
By the way, I read somewhere that entering the Ivy Club is like stepping inside a giant iPod. It is. Though an iPod with a very hushed and elegant atmosphere. If it's possible to imagine that.