I spend a lot of time with my friend who has an imaginary boyfriend in Wandsworth Prison since my ex admitted himself to a "Butlins Ward" (there are no hotels in Hackney), and what with my own life reflecting Take A Break magazine - the other night police and paramedics burst in my flat, I had put my phone on silent to watch Take Me Out, another guilty pleasure, and because of my recent episode, I didn't answer my phone so my friend thought I'd eaten a lithium sandwich - I have come to Devon.
I'm staying in a holiday cottage with one of my (sane) friends, three miles from Totnes, where guys called Barry change their name to Tarquin, and girls bang the bongo's with their pregnancy sticks.
It is beautiful. Alive yet serene. I'm already dreading going back to the sirens and smoke of East London.
They don't even have Devonshire ice - cream because they've all changed to soya!
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