Boll and I seem to be living between cities this year. We’re in Newcastle in August, Hertford in September. And Boll thankfully makes herself at home in both locations – a bit like a cat novelist.
It is, after all, a truth universally acknowledged that novelists must, by law, live between two places. You know the sort of thing – Libby Cotswoldy lives with her cat Clytemnestra, between Pratt’s Bottom and Provence, Hugo Bonham lives with his partner Jeremy Troubador between Hampstead and La Gomera, Emily Bronte lives with her peculiar sisters and alcoholic brother between rural Yorkshire and Dubai.
I obviously intend to live between when I’m a novelist. But I feel the need to expand the repertoire, living between, say, Luton and Harlow. Or Swindon and Middlesbrough. Slough and Stevenage perhaps. Bradford and Newport. Or Basildon and Barking.
All suggestions gratefully received.