For a month, I rode some kind of relaxed sex galleon around London, like a lady pirate – remembering, again, how every conversation with a member of the opposite sex carries with it that tiny, atom-small, atomic-bright possibility: ‘Hello. Are you it?
And every Thursday, I would invite over Pete from Melody Maker, cook him soup and tell him all these stories – ‘So I rang Room Service, and asked for a steak sandwich, and a pair of men’s pants’ – while we played records, and cried laughing.
Read a whole section about Caitlin’s wedding from How To Be a Woman at the Mail on Sunday.
‘Oh!’ I said, waking up. ‘I’m in love! I’m in love with Pete.’ I looked around the flat. ‘He’s what’s not here.’
So what is the best vegetable? Well, we all know that: it’s the potato. The vegetable you can’t screw up. You can throw a potato into a bonfire, run away from it - and, an hour later, it’s turned into a meal. Try doing that with broccoli, or a trifle, and it will laugh in your face.