Also, I'm flagging up this film blogger, because she's brilliant. In my head, this is what my writing should be when it grows up. It's an impossible dream, I know. Maybe my writing can just marry her writing instead. How about it, Lindy West's writing? My writing will sit quietly in the corner. You won't even know its there. It'll do the dishes, too. And the hoovering.
Which I guess makes my writing more of a thrall than a husband, but that's OK, because they know they love each other and even though all the other writings will whisper behind their metaphorical backs they just won't care. And one day they'll have lots of little baby writings, and they'll have your brevity and wit and my... well, dick jokes, I guess.
Maybe I should set my sights a bit lower, actually. I'm pretty sure Jan Moir's writing is still single.