Buttercup 2: Return of the crazy

Dear Dr Sven

OK, so it’s, like, nine days until publication, not that I’m counting or anything, but, well, yes I am actually, wouldn’t you? I mean, it’s the biggest thing to happen to me since Rachel Riley messed it up with Jack (again) and so OBVIOUSLY I’m, like, excited. Even more excited than when I thought I had found that chocolate raisin I had lost two days ago under the table and ate it, only it turned out not to be chocolate at all, which kind of disproves my point, which is that the SECOND Buttercup Mash trailer thing is up on Youtube, which, like, I KNOW! And it so IS NOT a fake chocolate raisin which turns out to be possibly poo only from what I have no idea and do not WANT to know. It is the Gleetastical REAL DEAL. And I am NOT EVEN JOKING! See?

About Joanna Nadin

A former broadcast journalist and special adviser to the prime minister, since leaving politics I’ve written more than 70 books, as well as speeches for politicians, and articles for newspapers and magazines like 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 nominated for the Carnegie Medal for Joe All Alone, which is currently being adapted for television. I also work with Sir Chris Hoy on the Flying Fergus series. 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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