I've fallen down on my blog commenting a bit this week, and I apologize! It's all down to the weekend away, house guests and midnight lamb -- and the Romantic Novelists' Association Winter Party! I shall redeem myself shortly, I promise.
Since I don't get out much, the thought of dressing up (and even brushing my hair) had me quivering in anticipation. The annual RNA Winter Party was held last night in the gorgeous Library of the Institute of Mechanical Engineers in Westminster.
The exterior of the Institute.
After meeting up with several RNA Tweeters at the Waterstones bar in Piccadilly (have you ever heard of anything so fabulous? A bar in a bookstore?), we coerced the doorman at The Ritz to flag us down a cab for the short journey to the Institute.
The interior of the Library.
The library was packed with writers, agents, editors and publishers -- all there to party it up! It was noisy and crowded but loads of fun, and I got to catch up with a lot of people I'd met at the conference and meet some new writers, too. It was all good except for one thing: my feet. Shoved into my foreign high heels, I was experiencing pain like never before. Despite the rain and the freezing cold, I couldn't help ditching the shoes and running in my stocking-ed feet down the street towards home! Freedom!And the fun continues today: I'm off to Hannibal House (yes. Hannibal) to prove my identity for my first British passport! Other exciting news: over on High Heels and Book Deals, The Hating Game is reviewed! Pop over if you get a chance. And I'm very sorry to say I've finally had to enable word verification on my blog. I like enlarged penises and all, but... not on my blog, no.
What are you up to today? And do you believe high heels were invented to inflict pain on the women of the world?
