I was asked to talk about something today

... which I didn't want to talk about.
I got a call from a very lovely and supportive journalist who was writing a piece about diet pills and whether or not they messed with your head.
She wanted to know had I ever taken them (yes - ones from health food shops and ones from the doc), had they worked (evidently not) and if they drove me a bit mad (hard to tell when the bar is set at mildly pyschotic in the first instance).

It would have been great publicity but although I can blether on to your lovely people about all sorts of personal weight and image and mentalness related issues I just couldn't face the thought of my big fat face in a newspaper yabbering about diet pills.

Surely it would highly inappropriate for me to sell my soul to sell a few books? Besides, it's bad enough being known as the mad one. The mad, fat one would be an image I could do without.

I hope the journo in question finds someone to chat to as she is genuinely exceptionally lovely, but not for me. Not this time.