'Surely,' you might say to yourselves with a puzzled frown, 'Surely, Sarah, that is a common state of affairs?'
So you might think.
On Friday I flew from Dublin to London, where I had a photoshoot for Company magazine. It was held in a laundrette: I was told they once held one in a biker bar. It was me, a lady who sells ceramics, and two other ladies who run a boot camp, and the idea was all to be extremely glamorous and strike fabulous poses, offset by the ordinary surroundings of a laundrette.
Of course not being the glamour model type, I instantly made some terrible mistakes. As for instance, I assumed that the elderly lady whisking her clothes out of a washing machine was involved in the photoshoot.
SARAH: Do you just have to take the clothes in and out all day?
OLD LADY: *HORRIFIED STARE*
SARAH: Oh right. Right. Sorry, I understand.
OLD LADY: *eyes soften*
SARAH: You have to stay in character, right?
OLD LADY: *RIGHT BACK TO HORRIFIED STARE*
The other ladies in the photoshoot were, to use an eighties phrase, stone cold foxes, which was intimidating, but the wonderful magazine people made me look quite nice. I was in a rather daring red corset dress, which I believe only horrified the elderly lady more: all she wanted was lemony fresh laundry, and she was accosted by a minx with a plunging neckline and eyelashes that were black as my sinful heart.
Afterwards I just missed meeting orexisbella to my woe, and then caught up with Cassandra Clare and our friends Josh and Clary.
Everyone was very taken aback by my upswept hair and impeccable eye make-up. And by the way I entered the room.
SARAH: STOP. PAUSE. ADMIRE ME.
SARAH: This is the most glamorous I will ever be. I hope it was good for you.
They thought it might be the start of a whole new radiantly lovely me, but I woke up the next day with my usual Scared Hedgehog do, and that dream died.
Saturday we got the plane from London to Scotland.
We arrived in Glasgow and upon entering my hotel room I discovered a man directly below my window playing a bagpipe. 'Yes, I realise this is Scotland,' I told the air. 'No need to overdo it: you have made yourself perfectly clear.'
At the Borders in Glasgow we were welcomed by the awesome booksellers, who gave us GIFTS. Chocolate and one pink and purple sock monkey each! I was so delighted.
SARAH: ... CASSIE. I have a NOTION. Our sock monkeys.
SARAH: THEY SHOULD FIGHT.
CASSIE: Uh, I think my sock monkey is a pacifist.
BOOKSELLER: All sock monkeys are pacifists.
SARAH: Not my sock monkey. I see the light of battle in his button eyes.
My sock monkey's button eyes searched for new worlds to conquer. I named him Alexander. As Cassie refused to name hers, I named him Gandhi.
Everybody agreed that I should not bring Alexander out to meet our awesome audience. I feel this was a mistake.
Nevertheless we had a fabulous event! Cassie was poised and winning: I mostly told crazy stories and aired ridiculous theories about books. We passed around a box for questions called The Demon's Instrument's Question Box, and I read out from The Demon's Covenant and Cassie read out from The Clockwork Angel, as they are both not yet published and thus thrilling and secret.
Afterwards we gave out copies of the first chapters. I was meant to have a system, but I forgot it completely and sort of vaguely waved copies at people. I apologise if someone feels robbed because they did not get a chapter!
Also my lovely Scottish cousin came by and gave me a box of chocolate.
SARAH: Aw, thank you!
CASSIE: Whoa, did that girl give you chocolates?
SARAH: Yes, she's... (pause) She's a big fan.
Oh, the evilness of me!
I like Scotland a lot. Sock monkeys, chocolate, book lovers and excellent questions, what is not to love?
The answer: bagpipes.
The next day, I flew from Glasgow to Dublin, where I re-packed my tiny bag, collapsed in a heap, had my first kaffee klatsch with some awesome students, and then flew back to London where I attended Cassie's London party. I was primed to put up my hand and ask her ridiculous questions, but unfortunately there were too many fans with great questions, and also she refused to call on me.
I met many great people there as well, and also had an opportunity to harass Maureen Johnson, which I enjoy doing.
SARAH: You should write a book. Set in Dublin.
MAUREEN: I should get the boat to Ireland and have an adventure!
SARAH: Yes! You should stay with me. We could have cereal fights.
MAUREEN: Explain yourself. If the plan is not sufficiently crazy, I will not agree.
SARAH: You take the plastic bag of cereal out of the cereal box. You open it, fill it with milk, and then tie the bag up again. Then, you hit each other on the head with your bags of cereal until the bags EXPLODE.
MAUREEN: ... Agreed.
Sales continue steady but not up for the US Demon's Lexicon: remember to harass your friends and your genetically engineered to read household pets, so as to get the next part of Sorcerer and Stone next week! In the meantime, The Demon's Lexicon just sold in Indonesia and the Czech Republic, so give me five and let off some fireworks in a remote location out of doors!
Tomorrow I give a talk with two other lovely author ladies about Demons, Fairies and Ghosts which may turn into an all-out fist fight. I could say that I will not start it, and the madness will not be entirely my fault, but I don't like to lie to you guys.
The day after Cassie and I fly back to Dublin, where we will have another Fabulous Event at 6:30 16th July, with readings and advance chapters and shenanigans, definitely crazy stories and perhaps a secret, ninja sock monkey appearance. Also there will be Mortal Instruments T-shirts and badges with Demon's Lexicon ravens and 'Of course Nick had to get rid of the body' on them.
I like my badges. My mother wears hers to the tennis club. They look at her with suspicion, these days. Who is Nick, they wonder to themselves, and where, oh where, is he putting the bodies?
Until next time, I hope you will be betting on me to win in the Demons, Fairies and Ghosts fist fight. If some canny librarian youtubes it, you can rely on me to provide you with a link.