It's been a few years since I've been to Nottingham Writers' Club. I went along to support our Maxine Linnell, author of Vintage and the forthcoming Closer. Pitched up early, didn't recognise anyone but noticed there was a bookstall to check out during the break, and made myself comfortable. "Are you the speaker?" asks one of the women present. "No, I'm her publisher." Blank look. "You are the Writers' Club?" "No, we're the Harlequin group." Oops. The only Harlequin group I'd known in town had been for TV/TS people so I wished I'd had time to look at the bookstall but didn't want to be late for the meeting I was supposed to be in. Got into the right meeting, said to the bloke next to me that I'd gone first to the wrong room. "Ah - the Harlequins - they used to be Ladies' Gas, but they changed their name." I could hear the next part of the conversation, though it did not happen. "Not transvestites then?" "Nay, lad, I don't think so. They used to work for British Gas."Maxine was very good.
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