From Notting Hill to New York . . . Actually Read Online Free PDF

somewhere with Oscar again?’
    ‘Yes, we’re going to a recording of the
Antiques Roadshow
,’ I roll my eyes. How Oscar ever talked me into this I don’t know.
    Sean’s eyes open wide. ‘After your last dalliance with the world of television, is that wise, Scarlett? Aren’t you banned from all TV studios now?’
    ‘Ha ha, very funny,’ I say as I wander halfway down the stairs so I can see Sean properly. ‘One, the
Antiques Roadshow
isn’t filmed in a TV studio, it’s on location. We’re going to Wimbledon today. And two, this is the BBC. Last time was a different channel altogether.’
    Sean grins. ‘And pray tell me why Oscar is dragging you out to Wimbledon today? Has he an antique tennis racket in his possession now?’
    ‘No, he wants to get one of his jackets valued, and I think he quite fancies being on TV himself, if the truth be known.’
    Sean nods. ‘I can quite imagine that. What are you taking along?’
    ‘Me?’
    ‘Yeah, you can’t go and not take something to be valued, can you?’
    I think about this. ‘But I don’t own any antiques.’
    ‘I bet youdo. There must be something in the O’Brien closet you could take with you. You might as well if you’re going, anyway.’ He leaps back up the stairs and wraps his arms around me. ‘Now, as much as I’d like to stay and help you search for something, I’ve got to dash.’ Sean looks at my downcast face. ‘Cheer up, it’s not that bad – even if it is the
Antiques Roadshow
.’
    I don’t smile at his joke.
    ‘Hmm … What about dinner tonight, then, at that restaurant you like on Portobello Road? Would that cheer you up?’
    I nod.
    ‘Great, I’ll book us a table.’ He kisses me on the forehead. ‘Have fun with Oscar today, ‘he calls as he bounds down the stairs again. ‘It’s a good job he’s gay, or I might get jealous. He gets to see more of you than I do these days.’
    That isn’t so far from the truth that Sean should be making a joke about it.
    I listen to the door close behind him and sigh.
Right, well, if you can’t spend time with me at this hour of the morning, then I know who can.
I turn around and head back up the stairs to our bedroom. I pick up my laptop from the dressing table, jump onto the bed and open the lid. My Wi-Fi connects to the internet and I’m away!
    I smile to myself. When I first came to London last year I’d have loved what I’d just done because it reminds meof a movie scene. Back then I’d been desperately trying to prove you could live your life like it was a movie. Creeping about, logging on to the internet as soon as my partner had left the house was a bit like Meg Ryan in
You’ve Got Mail
, except that I wasn’t about to find a lovely, flowery email from Tom Hanks on my screen today. No, if I was lucky I might get a 140-character tweet back from the latest celebrity I was following on Twitter.
    It’s a new challenge I’ve set myself lately, seeing who I can get to reply. It isn’t easy; they’re a hard bunch to crack, especially celebrities with a lot of followers. And if you pick one who’s male and good-looking, you have to fight your way through all the ‘Aren’t you wonderful!/ How about a date?/Look at how huge my breasts are in this photo’ tweets they inevitably get sent every time they update their status. Actually if you spend any time nosing through people’s profiles on Twitter (which of course I only do out of necessity if they follow me first and I want to know if I should follow them back …) it tells you a lot about the kind of people they are in real life. For example, the people that only follow and tweet celebrities, not any normal ‘folk’. I was accused many a time of living in a fantasy world when I was trying to ‘live my life in a movie’, but at least I was actually operating in the real world while I was doing it. I often wonder if some people onTwitter live in their own little celebrity obsessed bubble, only existing to retweet the latest