I insist everyone gets legless on my behalf

I should be doing something tonight. That would mainly involve fretting about my skirt being too short and my saying the wrong thing after a glass too many at Guardian First Book Award ceremony. I would have so loved to have been there but I am still away in the land of many motorbikes, noodles and pyjamas as outerwear (which I wholeheartedly approve of obviously). 

I should probably have probably gone for a cocktail tonight or watched an old movie at Cinematheque or at least cycled around West Lake and enjoyed the sparkle of the lights on the water. Instead I am editing, wearing my favourite writing jumper with the giant hole in the armpit and woolly socks as Hanoi’s autumn arrives.

The truth is it would have been nice to go to the swanky party but I don’t really need to. I’m so lucky to be on the shortlist with four other incredible writers and that’s enough. And (even though I was brought up to believe this sort of feeling would blow up in my face and burn my eyebrows off) whisper it: I am proud. I’m proud just to be on that list and to be representing the female (and Brit) novelists tonight.

I do however insist you all leg-numbingly drunk, wear very short skirts and say all the stupid things I would have on my behalf. I’ll be here, making things up and indulging in some London custard cake…cheers!