Secretly Superstitious

Again: it's late, I'm writing, I'm looking for a semi-break.

When I was younger, I had a pair of lucky knickers.  They weren't lucky in a sex way (I was 17 and not even having sex); they were just really cool and I loved them, so I saved them for going-out nights and always had an awesome time.  Hence: lucky!  I bought them in Camden Market (of course), in that bit where they have the market in the Electric Ballroom during the day.  They were a riot of primary-coloured print that I would now liken to a particularly garish Pyrex dish; they were made in the days before Lycra, so the pants fabric was centred around elasticated seams; they came with a matching soft-cup bra with gold fastenings; they were vintage but unworn (they came in sealed plastic wrappers, so stop saying it's gross, OK?!).  I loved them.  In fact, I may still have them somewhere and would really like to wear them again.  I know they're split  down at least one side seam but that's fine - these things were built to last and I'm only a little fatter.

I salute magpies faillessly, making it look like I'm scratching my head if I'm in public.  I will never walk under a ladder.  I chant sometimes - nam myoho renge kyo - which I know is different but which I personally do for pretty much the same reasons.

Right now, I'm working on my manuscript and I am using a postcard-sized portrait of Esther Freud, painted by her dad, as a bookmark - hoping that some inspiration and good luck might rub off on me...