Lucy Robinson's Blog, page 3

Life I Love: The Man’s pillow talk

Last night, 11pm.

We are lying in bed. Without warning, The Man sits up and exclaims ‘FROTTAGE CHEESE!’ and then dies laughing.

This bore no relation to anything we were doing in bed, by the way. It’s just The Man. He is an adorable wazzock, he really is.

Life I love: Lucy Robinson flying an actual plane

These blogs, the Wot I love ones. I’m changing their name to The Life I Love. I would have vomited all over phrases like that before everything that happened last year but these days it makes absolute sense to me. So, um, yes, I hereby rename this strand THE LIFE I LOVE. Will continue to blog daily (um, that’s daily-ish) about things I’ve loved in the last 24 hours. It makes me happy, it seems to make you happy – boom. Happiness all round. Life is so much better when you’re scanning for the positives, not the negatives.

Here is something I REALLY loved. Like, loved so much I can’t actually believe it. This, ladies and gentlemen, is LUCY ROBINSON FLYING A BLOODY AEROPLANE. For real. Not pretending: I FLEW THE THING! It was slightly terrifying at first but in the end I got the hang of it. Check me out. Seriously. WTF?! (I apologise to my Mum, who I didn’t tell about this. She’d only have spent two hours trying not to vom with worry. Sorry Mummy.)

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SNEAK PREVIEW of The Unfinished Symphony of You and Me!

HI GANG!

So, with exactly one month to go until publication, I’m absolutely thrilled to be revealing the first chapter of The Unfinished Symphony of You and Me, my latest novel. Out June 19th in all the usual places, as a paperback and ebook, it’s been getting absolutely amazing early reviews. I can’t tell you how happy this makes me! This book is my baby – my favourite of all Lucy Robinson books so far – and, obviously, I would rather like you all to enjoy it too. As many of you know I had a fairly bad time during the writing of this thing. My health took a very serious downward turn and I was on my back for many months, but I made it through and this book is testament to my very strong clever body and mind… who between them got me well again.

So, here it is. The first chapter. Or, as you will see, the Overture. Let me know what you think!

RAHHH!

Lucy X

THE UNFINISHED SYMPHONY OF YOU AND ME PREVIEW

PS. If you like it, you can pre-order online.

Loving New York day 20: near death and cronuts

I have been slack at blogging the last few days. I was away in Connecticut and obviously there is no internet there of any sort. There never has been, it’s like a State policy or something.

I guess the actual truth is that I’ve just been having ALL THE FUN and keep being naughty and pretending I can’t hear myself every time I tell myself to write a blog.

It’s been so magical – stunning drives through villages and towns with clapboard houses and beautiful little white churches – several marshy places that seemed so familiar that I couldn’t stop myself bellowing the theme song from Dawson’s Creek and searching the old wooden jetties in case Joey and Pacey were making out… We went to an olde inn (truly old, by US standards) and there were nice ladies playing instruments and a beardy man with a banjo… And we also slightly gatecrashed a wedding in the stunning town of Mystic, but that’s another matter.

Those of you who follow me on Facebook and Instagram and twitter and whatnot (GAHHHH INSTAGRAM! PLEASE CAN PEOPLE STOP BLOODY WELL INVENTING THESE THINGS? They are very time consuming! Thank you.) Er, anyway, those of you who very kindly follow me on those things will also see that I was flown to Martha’s Vineyard in a PRIVATE PLANE – I shit you not – which then flew Marge and I back to NYC after, oh, you know, just a casual flight down the Hudson River. No words to describe how magical that was. Although I was very nearly sick when Marge’s boyfriend (owner of said plane) did a tight circle round the Statue of Liberty. But I once got carsick on the back of an elephant so there’s no helping me.

Oh and my lovely publishers couriered my BEAUTIFUL NEW BOOK to me as soon as it arrived in from the press and it’s just stunning. I’m so proud of it!

So, it’s all been really quite extraordinary. I am such a lucky Robinson.

I thought it was a perfect trip until yesterday, when my American literary agent tried to actually kill me. She dressed it up as a friendly invitation to an exercise class that has become an NYC craze, and I thought, oh, how nice! Not only does she represent my rights in North America but she also wants to welcome me to her city!

I was wrong. She just wanted to kill me off. After half an hour of the class I found myself wishing she’d just got a hit man or something; it would have been a lot easier. The class is based around a ballet barre but it’s not ballet, or even ballates, which some of you may have heard of. It’s a full body toning/death class involving squashy footballs, stretchy elastic bands, mats and weights. IT IS ALSO A KILLER. The pretty blonde assassin who ran the class was being all lovely and encouraging but she must have known her instructions could only lead to the untimely death of fat old biffers like me. (I was a very fat, very old, very biffery biffer compared to the women in that room let me tell you.)

Her encouragement was everything you’d hope for in an American fitness class. ‘GORGEOUS!’ She kept shouting. ‘YOUR MOVES ARE LOOKING SOOOO GREAT!!!’ From my position curled up on the floor in the corner of the room I couldn’t quite agree. Her best was ‘KEEP GOING TIL THOSE TRICEPS ARE SHAKING! YEAH, SHAKING! THAT’S AN EARTHQUAKE WE REALLY WANNA MAKE, YEAH?!’

No. It was not an earthquake I really wanted to make. I wanted to die. Do you hear me? I wanted to die!

My agent said I was a natural. She’s a crafty one, I tell you. Will need to keep an eye on her.

Anyway, when I left, weak of limb and short of breath, what should I spy but the Cronut queue! As many of you will know, I accepted challenges earlier in this trip to try bizarre, wonderful or frankly disgusting American snacks. I went to SoHo one lunchtime to buy a cronut but was told they sell out by 8.30. ‘Come at around 7am,’ the bakery man said.

I snorted derisively. I am not the sort to queue at 7am for baked goods.

So, I got in the queue yesterday for baked goods. I couldn’t help myself. Marge and I had tried a non-patented vegan cronut a few days before and it had been fucking disgusting – we needed the real deal. And there I was, in SoHo, at the crack of arse. I mean dawn. Reeling with pain from the class, and shivering with post muscle-destruction cold, I waited for more than an hour… And got the penultimate two! Here, finally – FINALLY – is what happened!

(keep scrolling down for the video…)

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Loving New York day 13: peep show toilets

I don’t love this, really, but I find it very funny. (You’ll forgive me posting a picture of French toast, rather than the actual subject matter, I hope.)

America – why in the name of The Lord Jesus Christ do your public toilets – and a good many of your office toilets – have MASSIVE GAPS between the door and its hinges/fastenings? Let me be clear – YOU CAN CLEARLY SEE A PERSON ON THE BOG when you walk in.

Why? Why do you do this?

Your toilets are so much better in all other respects. They’re comfy, they flush properly (everything goes, unlike the half-hearted, resentful part-empty that goes on in UK bogs) and they offer an unparalleled viewing shelf where you can clearly and easily inspect whatever it is you’ve just done.

But the doors… The doors….?

I am lost, America. Help me out here.

Loving New York Day 12: BEAUTY (no beast)

I’ve never really thought of NYC as a beautiful city. Even though I like it so much I often consider moving here illegally. (I’m not serious, American Immigration people.)

Yesterday, I changed my mind. It’s a stunner! I took a walk along the High Line – crammed as it is with wild flowers and trees and (amazingly) people getting married – and then took a wander round the stunning Frick Collection, marvelling at its arcadian gardens and improbable peacefulness. Not to mention all those amazing paintings. (Without protection glass or ropes in front of them either! You can get your face right up to them to see all the brushstrokes and stuff!)

And then I walked back through Central Park, which is just stunning at the moment. Everything’s unfolding and taking bloom. It smells good. It feels good. It IS good.

And that’s all I have to say on the subject.

Loving New York Day 11: Lindsey Kelk

Yesterday I moved back in with Marge, who’d kicked me out for a few days. This is because she is a BIG HO. (I think this is how Americans write ‘hoe.’ It makes me laugh a lot more without the E. Do you feel the same?)

Marge isn’t really a BIG HO. She just had another visitor. I mean, she invited me to come over for a week and I decided to come for three, so it’s fair enough.

Anyway, during those BIG HO days, I went and stayed with my chum Lindsey Kelk. She’s a Times top ten bestselling author so I won’t bother telling you what you already know – namely that she is a totally hilarious and very talented writer who writes chicklit that is GENUINELY HILARIOUS rather then vaguely amusing, and somehow manages to combine things like relationships, fashion and families with chat about vaginas, madness and punch-ups. She is King.

And all I have to say in this post, really, is that I loved the backside off Lindsey Kelk during my stay. (I still do; it wasn’t a limited-time offer.) Her walk-in wardrobe is beyond mad (in a good way) and so is her life (in a good way.) She is proper magic. Funny, fun, clever, perceptive, warm, wise, brutally honest and completely fucking ridiculous. A massively talented writer and a lovely girl. With a collection of shoes that would leave you weak. I still can’t believe I allowed her to watch me buying $2.99 flip flops. God.

Loving New York 10: being so cool

I’m not cool. But I felt it for a night. I stood on the VIP balcony overlooking the stage at the CHVRCHES gig last night. All around me were men with massive beards and round glasses (this is the facial hair uniform for cool men these days) and below me were an ELECTRO BAND.

Even though it seemed that it was probably a lot cooler in that balcony to stand still and vaguely nod my head to the music, I was rocking out proper by the end, with thrashing arms and screaming and stuff. They were immense! Or whatever you’re meant to say about cool bands!

I am having such a good time. I’m saying yes to everything. I smile all day long. I’m stressed by nothing and I even agreed with myself yesterday that I would not buy a handbag, even though I need one,* because I am skint and need that money for curtains in the bedroom back at home. The neighbours can see us in bed; it’s beyond a joke now. Anyway, I actually peaceful about that decision.

I don’t miss stressy adrenalised Robinson one bit, you know. HEAR ME NOW!

Loving New York Day eight: Lindsey Kelk and the Naughty Raccoon

I’m staying with Lindsey Kelk for the weekend. There are so many things I am loving about staying with her, but top of the list was a two-hour walk round a dark park last night, filled with mating people and skunk smokers and men lurking in clumps of bull rushes. All of these things were good, but none of them were beaten by the NAUGHTY RACCOON who came to stare at us. ISN’T HE NICE!

Loving New York Day 7 – Crack Pie

There were so many things I loved yesterday. There was the woman in Macy’s telling me that a handbag I was gazing at was ‘really English, like, so suitable for England it’s, like, oh my god, THIS IS A BAG FOR ENGLISH PEOPLE’ (seriously). There was the lovely osteopath who sorted out all my problems in an hour, and then told me about the best pizza in the entire world. (Everyone in New York recommends the best pizza in the entire world. Their recommendations are never the same.) There was the unexpected email from an old school friend who now lives here, inviting me to join her for her birthday celebrations, and there was the bowl of perfect, steaming, free-range pork belly ramen at Momofuku that made me want to cry it was so delightful. Since deciding to go free-range and organic with my meat I’ve certainly eaten a lot less pork. Which is hard because it is my favourite thing in all of history.

And then there was the CRACK PIE. As you will note from previous blogs, I have been accepting challenges from readers; specifically food challenges. So far I’ve eaten a corn dog, a twinkie and a twizzler. The results have not been great. I apologise for the amount of swearing and food-spitting out that has gone on in the videos. But seriously. The corn dog? What the fuck? Who the fuck? WHY?

None of that was necessary last night, when I tried the Milkbar’s Crack Pie. This is a pie so important that it’s actually been patented. Although it seems that any remotely good idea, even if it’s a cake, gets patented here.

I was uncertain about the idea of Crack Pie. I hoped it got its name because it was like crack – once you start, you just can’t stop. But there was a part of me that feared that it was in some way related to bum cracks. I’d have hated that.

Luckily, it was the former. It was incredible, that Crack. A mouthful of beautiful, filthy, sugary, creamy, cracky HEAVEN. It was so good that I stopped watching telly and just wailed things at Marge; mostly ‘Oh my God. This is amazing. This is amazing. This is amazing.’

I did not feel the urge to eat ten more afterwards. The Crack Pie is a noble beast and must be handled with respect, or else it may lose its God-like qualities. For this pie really was made by the hand of God. It could not be further from bum cracks if it tried.

And that is all I have to say.