Status Updates From The Accidental Medium

It’s so old-fashioned it’s almost cutting edge.

I am no gardener, but even I know bluebells are spring flowers. There shouldn’t be bluebells growing wild in June.

Even when the sign says 30 mph, in my experience country people drive like they’re steering Learjets.

What weapon? Do you think I have an arsenal in my spare room?

A penknife will do. Come on, all Northerners have penknives.

It’s phenomenal what goes on in the real world. Much madder than telly.

I’m scared. But always overriding “scared” is “nosy”.

I’m not like you young uns. Once I’ve nested, I don’t put my face back on - not at this time of night.

A wholenew day dawning on the righteous. And the wrongteous.

It doesn't matter where the messages come from, if I'm helping.

...it's only if you're regarding the "dead" in a horror-movie kind of way that it sounds weird. If people are simply people, and they move on in pure electric form when they die, why can't they sometimes slip back and present themselves in electrical non-solid form, to give a bit of comfort to those they loved?

The funniest thing about my closeness with Inka is that I'm actually allergic to cats. ... But it's a very small price to pay for so much love. And make no bones: animals know their stuff when it comes to love.

He's around all of you. You can do that, it seems: be in lots of places at once when you ... pass over. You want to talk to him - just talk. He'll always hear.

What kind of self-respecting gay man doesn't smell fabulous?

I can't work out why actors ever have kids. They're the most easily bored, fidgety-minded juveniles on the planet.

It smells like a sweet shop, as opposed to London, which often smells like a sweat shop.

"It's only a fifteen-minute walk!"

"Which means it's an even shorter drive. Good."

North London contains a lot of people who try not to look like they've tried very hard, when they patently have.

So many of my friends are gay. One blessing of being in the entertainment industry.

My bathroom looked like an explosion in TK Maxx every time she took a shower. She only tidies up when there's a possibility she's bringing a man home, and then she's like the House Doctor on rollerskates. It's bizarre. Why sell yourself as a super-housewife if they're only going to find out imminently that you're a total slob?

...some idiot knocked a dent in the door while I was parked outside my house and drove off without leaving a note. This is the norm for London, but it still riles me.

Usually Elsa treats bread the same way she treats tramps and beggars - like their existence makes her sick.

Those blokes who are the most disturbed are the best at seeming unassuming and nice.

I would be terrified if I saw a ghost.

Probably why you hear them, love. Less scary for you.

You're clairvoyant, love. Actually, if they're speaking to you, you're clairaudient.