It’s strange being back in London, back where I was born; there’s very little connecting me to the place now, apart from my friends and family. London has become mythical to me now, perhaps because I write about it so much in my novels, while sitting in the Plymouth flat where I live. And also I like it much more than I ever did, even though I’ve probably given it a grotesque visage in Murderson. Now I’m on a slow bus to Chinatown, but it’s ok, cause there’s a friendly face waiting for me. Although she might be slightly miffed that I still haven’t come up with something to do in rainy London today. Anyone got any ideas? By the way, my book is selling okay on amazon. Check it out.

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