We were asked to keep it under wraps, as the website hadn't gone live, but I can finally reveal that... 

... this is what happened on a very chilly February morning earlier this year! A fantastic photoshoot at Trader Vic's, the gloriously old-school Honolulu-chic bar in the basement of the Hilton Park Lane. (With rather wonderful serendipity my parents went on their first date there - Mum took the tropical flower out of her blue cocktail, put it behind her ear and - well, I don't want to ruin reputations or anything, but let's just say that my father was smitten.)

The girls in this photo are, from left to right: 

the sublimely elegant Victoria Fox, whose butter-wouldn't-melt appearance belies the blush-making raunch of her unputdownable novels (think a younger, sexier Jackie Collins and you're only halfway there!); 

moi - with flower firmly behind ear; 

my lovely pal Carrie Duffy, whose books are beautifully-written, glamorous and sexy as hell - don't be fooled by that angelic smile (a theme appears to be emerging here); 

ah - the wonderful Belinda Jones herself, the brains behind the whole operation; the Svengali, the Maestro, possessor of extraordinary vision and brilliant writer of 11 much-loved novels that take you to (almost) every corner of the globe;

instantly likeable and friendly Michelle Gorman - a wise American in a sea of chattering Brits - whose first book, Single in the City, was described by Novel Escapes as: 'like Sex and the City told through the eyes of 
an American Bridget Jones... it was so funny that I laughed out loud...';

Anna-Lou Weatherley - ha! Difficult to know where to start, but she's an absolute one-off. As well as writing glamorous and intriguingly dark novels, Anna-Lou teaches pole dancing and is probably the only one of us who looks just as glam in real life as she does in these pictures;

cool Lucy Robinson. You can tell just by looking at her that she's fun, can't you? Her first book, The Greatest Love Story of All Time, had me laughing and crying simultaneously within the first few chapters.

The 'other' group (the segregation was to do with nothing more than who was ready when!). Don't they all look gorgeous?

From left to right: Rosie Blake, Kate Harrison, Abby Clements, Emma Garcia, Chrissie Manby, Ilana Fox, Molly Hopkins. Wonderful writers, to a woman.

But to what end such glamour? 

Well, I did mention in an earlier blog that I was thrilled to be part of the Sunlounger anthology of travel-based short stories by female authors, coming out on the 1st of July. The range of destinations is extraordinary, from St Tropez (moi) to Dubai to Argentina to Tuscany to Thailand to... oh just look at them all here!

More than half of the contributors to the anthology couldn't make the photo shoot. Look at all the names here, and I defy you not to agree with me that this book is going to be the ultimate summer beach read. 

The ahem - aftermath.

Carrie and I (top right) possibly outstayed our welcome partying with the team that made it all happen (spot TV's ever-entertaining Nigel May -the sole male contributor - and best-seller Tasmina Perry in these pics). At one very blurry stage I seem to recall a random Frenchman trying to lure Carrie up to his suite (trying being the operative word, natch). And the absurd grimace in the second picture is me trying to practise pouting (Anna-Lou had been teaching us earlier). 

My short story is set in St Tropez (above) as it seemed an appropriate location for two twenty-something girls on a fun, silly, boozy and ultra-glam holiday - the sort of trip where anything might happen (wistfully harking back to days of yore).

The Cote d'Azur has a place in my heart as my Dad had a villa company there in the Seventies - meaning that we spent every summer on that idyllic coast for at least 6 years. Going back to school in rainy September was always a bit of a shock to the system (although, nerd that I am, I kind of relished the return to lessons).

This is Club 55, where my short story starts. If you've read Party Night, Revelry or Vanity, you'll recognise Bella and Poppy (it's a prequel - say five years or so before Revelry begins). If you haven't - well, let's just say it's high time you did - and you're in for a treat!

Bonnes vacances mes amis! xxx

Flowers, cook books and a broken Venetian mask. 

Lunch: Little Gem, fennel, orange (all from market), to-die-for hickory smoked mackerel (from Tesco - glam), and chives freshly snipped from the balcony. Shame it was so bloody cold out there that I had to come in after five minutes. 

Yummy combo though.

Maybe a tad Paul Raymond but sod it - I'm loving the loucheness of my sofa!

The very important place where all the very important words get written.

Cool chair came from Andy's parents' home. Intending to re-upholster in this toile de jouy fabric, but so far have got as far as 'trying to tuck bits in'.

After Andy had mantled desk I saw a sticker on it that said 'suitable for children aged 3 to 12'. Oh well. I still think it's pretty - and just the right size!

No idea where or when I acquired this but I'm sure it's helped my seamless prose...

This photo has pride of place on my desk as it was the day the first instalment of my advance money came through from the three-book-deal with Harper Collins. I took my parents and Andy out to celebrate at Motcombs in Belgravia. It was a very long and happy lunch!

And - well - just because I would like to share, once again, the pleasure my beautiful old baby gives me.

Right then. Today I thought it might be a good idea to blow away the cobwebs with a loooong bike ride around Hyde Park. I was right on that count, but what I hadn't reckoned with was the danger of returning home via the market. With cash on me.

The first stall I came across was a book one. And - Lord help me - the chap was selling Agatha Christie first editions:

Doesn't even THE CRIME CLUB at St James's Place in 1968 sound like somewhere one would want to hang out? (Dr Who writers, take note).

I'm a huge fan of Agatha and must have read most of her books by now. People may snipe about her lack of literary merit/cardboard cut-out characters/snobbery (take your pick), but she's still the world's best-selling author for one reason: her extraordinarily complex and intriguing plots. There's something very comforting about curling up with a nice cosy murder, trying to work out whodunnit.

I already have a bit of a paperback collection of AC...

... so to acquire these babies was simply irresistible. I do know whodunnit in both of them (having - erm - seen the TV adaptations), but promise not to blab!

So to Dalston on Friday evening for some street food. And what an enjoyable evening it was too (once we'd got over venturing such a long way out of our West London comfort zone. And in the interests of objectivity I feel obliged to report that scarily cool East End hipsters are actually just as friendly as anybody else I've ever met. Prejudices be damned!). 

Street Feast London is a once-weekly, Friday night (5 - midnight) pop-up food market that changes destination every week. And blimey - last week's was popular. Has food really become the new rock'n'roll? We didn't stay late as we were with friends with an utterly adorable four-and-eleven-twelfths little boy, but by the time we left (8.30-ish) there were queues around the block to rival those of Fabric around 2 in the morning, circa 1999. Yup, I'm showing my age.

But what of the food? Well, we didn't try everything, but what we did was pretty bloody delicious. To start with, Andy and I shared mussels and beer from the Cornish Mussel Company:

Ours were done Spanishly, and most yummy indeed, with all the flavours of paella (garlic, saffron, peppers etc) but crusty bread instead of rice as the essential juice-mopping carb. No pics as Andy had eaten half of them (bivalves, not photos - he's not actually a spy, much as he'd love to be) by the time I got back from the loo.

Andy opted for the Jamaican goat curry to follow, which was fantastic: robustly spiced, the tender, tasty meat falling away from the bone. 

I went for one of the most popular stalls - the Lebanese one selling wraps with halloumi, chorizo and the most astounding array of salady accompaniments - from grated carrot to fresh mint to pomegranate seeds. It was a long wait but worth it, with the fresh little parcels of goodness packing a salty, sweet, hot, sour and umami punch in every mouthful.

This Friday (ie tomorrow) Street Feast will be celebrating its first anniversary. The stalls all look mouthwateringly divine. If you happen to be somewhere near Merchant Yard, Dalston, I highly recommend you give it a whirl. Actually, I recommend it even if you're not. It's well worth a trip across town.

I love my new home, I really do. It's not huge, but it has a fantastic roof terrace, and is located just off Portobello Road (if you've read Revelry, you may notice just the teensiest hint of life imitating art!). I still can't get over the joy of popping out in the morning to pick up fruit and veg from the market, invariably returning with something I hadn't planned to buy. Yesterday it was two white rose bushes:

The day before, these fab shades from Goldsmith Vintage:

A couple of weeks ago (gulp) something a little more extravagant:

Isn't he gorgeous? He came with a whole stack of 78s and has provided hours of fun as we sip cocktails on the terrace, pretending to be characters in The Great Gatsby (talking of which, are you looking forward to the Baz Luhrmann film as much as I am?).

The atmosphere in the market, especially on a weekday, never fails to cheer. There's a permanent soundtrack, from both the stall that sells vintage rock and blues LPs, and the many buskers that line the streets, even when it's not busy. Somebody is currently fiddling Irish jigs outside my window, and this chap, strumming rockabilly riffs on his double bass, is a particular delight:

We're surrounded by bars, restaurants, pubs and cafes, and have already made friends with our neighbours - something I've never managed before, after living most of my life in other areas of London. There's just such a friendly, local vibe here - we both love it.

After a whole month we still haven't fully unpacked, and as I type this, Andy's mantling (if that is indeed the converse of dismantling) my new desk. So yesterday, as respite from the endless boxes, I decided to make the most of the sunshine and really have a go at the terrace (my new obsession). I absolutely adore it - it's like sitting in your own little secret garden mere seconds away from the bustle of the grimy metropolis. Yesterday a butterfly actually fluttered by as I wielded my tiny eau de nil watering can (I'll definitely need a bigger one if I continue to buy plants at my current rate!), transporting me to even more pretentious heights of ecstasy.

More photos to come once we've got rid of all the boxes, but in the meantime - a very happy bank holiday weekend to all!