It began as a love-letter to my grandparents; they were such a part of my life, so brave and idiosyncratic, so comically foreign yet proudly British, and I wanted to memorialise them. At the same time, I wanted to write about very English preoccupations - class, money, snobbery.
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Sometimes one develops a new interest, a passing fancy: breadmaking, say, or salsa dancing, or writing novels. And, like most lovely things in life, soon the urge passes, and calmness reigns once more.
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