Seeing this photo in my Facebook Newsfeed and absentmindedly commenting ‘Congratulations!’, presuming it was an ultrasound baby scan.
Oops.
Instead of sending your writing group a draft of your novel, accidentally attach a list detailing the ways you’ve decided you must personally improve your life.
They must think this is a very progressive novel that I’m writing. ‘Literary’.
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I live with my boyfriend these days. It’s very nice, apart from he’s a regular prankster.
His latest trick is altering the autocorrect on my iPhone to automatically switch words as I type them. This explains why I texted my mother telling her she should ‘ask my unadulterated hunk of man meat’ what he may like for dinner, and why I now apparently sign off messages with ‘live long and prosper’.
Perhaps even worse, he has also changed ‘no’ to autocorrect to ‘yo nahh don’t make me shank ya!’, which was pretty awkward, last night, when I sent a hurried work email from my phone. Cheers for that, darling. Live long and prosper.
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On Sunday night BAFTA invited me to the official EE BAFTA after-party with Disaronno, which was nice. They asked me if I’d like to tweet pictures and share updates from the event at Grosvenor House, ‘lifting the curtain’ on what happens behind-the-scenes after the awards have gone out on the telly.
I had one job to do - and no way to do it. Eep! How do you bounce back from such a technological setback? By diving into the official event photobooth, of course (elbowing Rick Edwards out the way to do so). Photo, middle top
We danced to a live set by The Noisettes (me and my friend Katy danced, not me and Rick Edwards danced; that would be a bit weird) - photo, bottom right. We stuffed our face full of chocolate-dipped strawberries and tropical sorbet - photo, top right - and drank Disaronno custom cocktails, during which I accidentally choked on more than my fair share of delicious pomegranate seeds.
It felt like I spent the entire evening getting out of the way of Rick Edwards and his trailing harem of pretty girls but, foiled by the technological foible of no mobile reception, the best way I can communicate the celebratory atmosphere of the EE BAFTA party after my poor selection of photos is probably by sharing Rick Edwards’ very own video of the event.
Rick Edwards, you owe me a heap of promo space after this.
Sorry, BAFTA! Next time I’ll bring a laptop, camera, and a wi-fi hub. (And not hide 300 tropical sorbet pots in my bag for the journey home. Yum.)
Find my very dark #BAFTAcelebration photos on Instagram: instagram.com/katie_khan
Read about the award winners on the official BAFTA site: awards.bafta.org
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A street in Central London. An aunt and a small nephew walk along the pavement, holding hands.
A bus passes, featuring the glorious Emma Thompson in the film Nanny McPhee.
‘Ooh!’ shouts the nephew, pointing with glee. Strangers turn and look at this small child with affection. ‘Yay,’ he says. ‘I love Nanny Fuck-Me.’
Strangers, now horrified, turn and look at the aunt (me) accusingly.
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