Twit(ter)

I tried. For literally weeks. Well, alright, days. I said I was absolutely under no circumstances going to sign up to Twitter i.e. sign away yet more swathes of my day when could usefully be writing / making cups of tea / watching Doctors. As it is Myspace and Facebook require constant monitoring to find out what friends are eating / watching / poking each other with.

But then Facebook friend John Prescott (yes it is he, of two Jags, and large hairdoed wife fame) started twittering. And all self control went out of window and within minutes had got account and linked it up to Facebook and started following (aka stalking) random people.

But then noticed no one was stalking me. And am now suffering from troubling flashback to school netball / rounders / swimming / hockey / who gets to sit on non-weirdo lunch table etc, when perpetually got picked last. Is hideous popularity test. Stephen Fry has 50,000 stalkers. So am begging you, in spirit of preventing me having to lie in darkened room to banish painful school memories, to stalk me at http://www.twitter.com/joannanadin

About Joanna Nadin

A former broadcast journalist and special adviser to the prime minister, since leaving politics I’ve written more than 80 books for children and adults, as well as speeches for politicians, and articles for newspapers and magazines like The Guardian, Red and The Amorist. I also lecture in Creative Writing at Bath Spa University, and hold a doctorate in young adult literature. I’m a winner of the Fantastic Book Award and the Surrey Book Award, and have been shortlisted for the Roald Dahl Funny Prize, the Booktrust Best Book award and Queen of Teen among others, and twice nominated for the Carnegie Medal, for Everybody Hurts, and for Joe All Alone, which is now a BAFTA-winning and Emmy-nominated BBC TV series. I've also worked with Sir Chris Hoy on the Flying Fergus series and ghost-written Angry Birds under another name. I like London, New York, Essex, tea, cake, Marmite, mint imperials, prom dresses, pubs, that bit in the West Wing where Donna tells Josh she wouldn’t stop for a red light if he was in an accident, junk shops, crisps, Cornwall, St Custard’s, Portuguese custard tarts, political geeks, pin-up swimsuits, the Regency, high heels, horses, old songs, my Grandma’s fur coat, vinyl, liner notes, the smell of old books, the feel of a velveteen monkey, Guinness, quiffs, putting my hand in a bin of chicken feed, the 1950s, burlesque, automata, fiddles, flaneuring, gigs in fields on warm summer nights, Bath, the bath.

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