Made a book, we made a book, look at us - we made a book!

This month saw the official release of the Domestic Sluttery book. I had foolishly thought this was something I'd take in my stride - after all, I've seen through hundreds of books as part of my day job. That wasn't the case at all: I was completely terrified about releasing the book we'd slaved away on for so many hours into the outside world (and I've subsequently vowed to be much more understanding to all my own poor angsty authors). Now I've got over that, I'm so proud of the book and all the work Sian and the rest of the team put into it, and have madly gone the other way, compulsively checking our sales ranking on Amazon. We seem to be doing really rather well which is lovely to see.

We had an amazing launch party last week at the Anova offices, fuelled by all the gin and cake as you'd expect from the Domestic Sluts. We were asked to post our outfits to WIWT, so for once I have a  record of what I actually wore for an occasion.

Ta da! It's my Olivia Rubin dress that I bought for my 30th. Out of sight are some amazing gold shoes, c/o Asos (I was trying to summon my inner superhero). The photo credit belongs to my mum who came down for the event and had the joy of me faffing around trying to get this photo for at least half an hour. Since mastering the technology, WIWT has become a bit of an addiction and I'm posting away on there like a teenager, if only the internet had existed in such a form when I was a teenager.

The title of this post is a thinly veiled reference to We Formed a Band, as I had the joy of seeing Art Brut for approximately my 20 billionth time earlier this month. It's been a bit of a gig going few weeks: as well as the Brut, this November I've seen St Vincent, Tom Vek, Summer Camp and Lykke Li (I sadly had to miss out on Cults as it clashed with the book launch) who were all brilliant in their own ways and deserving of a much more fulsome review than that. This week promises Wye Oak, Wild Beasts and Friendly Fires. I'm enjoying all the music hugely but it doesn't halt the feeling that I actually am regressing to teenagehood again any. One serious fact that makes me realise that, my god, I'm really not a teenager any more is that I've just had an offer accepted on a flat. I don't think you can get much more grown-up than that really - terrifying.