“We are going to have a curry out and watch ‘The X Factor’,” Philip had said, “so you should come.”

“Why not,” I’d said, even though I have homework this weekend, having to finish Rohinton Mistry’s A Fine Balance before Monday night at seven p.m. What happens Monday night at seven p.m. is the book club meeting of the Society of Young Publishers, I know it sounds nerdy, but (a) I need to meet industry people, and (b) nerds rule OK.

PS, A Fine Balance is six hundred and fourteen pages long, and closing in on midnight Saturday I am on page seventy-seven. But I am the sort who is optimistic.



The Jubilee line takes a girl to Abbey Road, where we ordered SIXTY QUID of Chinese take-out, which is hands down the largest food delivery order I have ever placed, or seen placed, or, probably, will ever place or see placed. At this level of ordering, we weren’t even ordering by item name. Grace on the phone with Asian Express was like calling out the winning Lotto: “100M, 95B, 20, 30 for 3, 25F large, 74 standard, 46.” Sixty quid of Chinese take-out came in a large cardboard box like they were shipping supplies to the Middle East. There were soups, there were noodles, there was SWEET AND SOUR FRUITY SAUCE MIXED. There were prawn crackers and curry and not one but two dishes called “Selection”.

Sixty quid of Chinese take-out goes well with a pink Cava, now it’s a Saturday night. And I don’t normally watch TV, but, man, when I watch TV, I watch TV. On “Strictly Come Dancing”, a dance competition show, the men were dressed like butlers and the women were dressed like whores. On “Casualty”, an emergency-room drama, every family had problems. On “The X Factor”, well, “The X Factor” was the prize of the night. Horribly fascinating, especially when you are shouting at the television. I am going to date Shayne, who sings well enough to be a boyfriend, but not an Artiste. Grace is going to date Nicholas, who sings flat, but has nice eyes. All of us really wanted to vote out the Conway sisters, who sucked. The blond Conway sister cried when they found out they were in the bottom two this week, and Grace had no sympathy. “They are always crying,” she said, contemptuously. When one of the other Conway sisters belted out a very large cracked note in “One Moment in Time,” Philip said: “Fer feck’s sake.” We like Philip because he is Scottish and speaks cool. He pronounces the word “no” with the utmost delicacy, elegant like putting down a very fine bone china teacup on a very fine bone china saucer. This word, “no”, coming from Philip, is rimmed in gold, and has its pinky finger sticking out.