Not so much the underdog as the under-flea on the underdog...

It was 1am and I was sitting on my rucksack on the gleaming floor of Bangkok airport. I had snacks (cashew nuts, a slightly bruised apple, a green tea latte from the 7-11) my feet were filthy, I had sunburned shins and too broke/tight to pay for an airport hotel I was waiting it out until my 9am flight when I got the news I’d been shortlisted for a Southbank Sky Arts Award for literature along with Hilary Mantel and Will Self. My reaction? Holy. Fucking. Jesus. Christ.

Of course, I’m not so much the underdog as the under-flea on the underdog. But honestly, who gives a shit? I’m most comfortable as the underdog (no sniggering at the back of the class please). It is an absolute fucking complete honour to be shortlisted alongside Mantel and Self and something I’m so grateful for. I’m going to buy a new frock (no, I can’t really afford one and yes, I will get it wrong and it will almost definitely too short and wholly inappropriate). I’ll get a free lunch. I’ll get to go goggle famous folks (how do they get so shiny-sheeny?). I still can’t quite believe it but it’s on the internet so it must be true.

Plus I am back in absolutely bloody beautiful London. I’ve never been more adoring of this city as I have been in the last few days. The pleasure of a freezing muddy walk on the Heath, toast dripping with butter and Marmite, Stout and sausage-rolls in old man pubs and too much wine and threats of a barring from Camden Mecca Bingo (don’t ask), long bus journeys with a cup of coffee, good music and the soaking city sliding by…today, the Southbank’s Poetry Library and a whole afternoon of writing…

Sorry, I worry that this blog is becoming just a long glut of happy, grateful wordy gurgles…but as I say, who gives a shit? I am happy. I am grateful. And now I’m off out onto the shining nighttime streets of London town.