I AM Buttercup Jones (and Lola, and quite a few other characters too)

It’s the nature of writing that every heroine I have conjured up, from Penny Dreadful to Rachel Riley has a little of me in her. In the case of Rachel, pretty much all of me. So much so, that when I started writing about the freakishly tall and misfortune-prone Buttercup Jones, who desperately wishes her life and looks weren’t quite so, well, weird, I really believed that, like Frankenstein, I had invented a whole new person. Until I began to take stock of my own, Buttercuppish moments:  

  1. When I was fifteen I looked like a man in a permed wig. I am NOT EVEN JOKING. Google Robert Plant and you can see for yourself.
  2. The following year I tap danced on stage to New York New York in a peach lycra body con dress with 32DD breasts and a very unsupportive bra.

And I’m still doing them, although more in a kind of Lola Jones i.e. Buttercup’s mum) way now:

  1. The first time I was supposed to meet the Prime Minister, I got banned and had to hide in the toilets because I was wearing combat trousers, a see-through top and a silver puffa jacket (I know, war crime outfit, but it was 1998).
  2. The first time I did meet the Prime Minister I curtsied. YES, actually factually curtsied. Although at least my top wasn’t see through.
  3. Last year I did the shopping in a gold lame ballgown under my parka, because I could not be bothered to get changed.
  4. I am still so short that my daughter asked me if she “will grow up to be a midget too?”

See? Buttercup. But life’s kind of more interesting that way. And I hope it stays like that.

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About Joanna Nadin

I write books for children. And teenagers. I like London, New York, Essex, tea, cake, Marmite, Metric, 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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