Award-winning author of Orangeboy, Patrice Lawrence, reveals 10 fun facts about herself. Her second breathtaking YA novel, Indigo Donut, is out now!
I have four pairs of silver shoes. Some worn-in brogues, some Fly London wedgie sandals that look way more comfortable than they are, some chunky silver and black T-bars, one of my first ever Ebay purchases and some sparkly block heels from New Look. They are extra-wide for feet like mine. They still hurt like hell after an hour.
My favourite film is Moonstruck. I developed a lasting crush on Nick Cage. He has spent many years trying to undo that good work with his film choices.
When I was a teenager, a local ex- Doctor Who companion read out my poem at a Mid Sussex arts festival. I couldn’t stop giggling.
One of my favourite paintings is Botticelli’s Venus and Mars. Her face tells its own story.
My favourite comfort food is macaroni cheese. And dhal. Not together.
One of my favourite holiday memories is discovering a parlour that sold 32 flavours of ice cream in San Remo, Italy. I had a cone with four scoops. It was a thing of wonder.
One of my first jobs when I came to London was working on the reception of young people’s sexual health clinics. There was a cornucopia of condoms. It was very educational.
Richard Osman from Pointless went to the same school as me, though he probably started just as I left. (I knew his older brother and went to his house once, though.)
And so did the bloke in the Athena poster Man Holding Baby. He was older, an Adonis in white t-shirt and Levi 501s. I bought my first house two doors down from his parents. (Not deliberately, I hasten to say. I am not a stalker. And anyway, he had long since departed to be photographed and meet lots of women.) Many, many years later, I took my daughter to our local health centre in Hackney for her vaccinations. That poster was on the nurse’s wall. I proudly told her the above fact. She just looked at me.
And the third name-dropping of someone I haven’t met? Benedict Cumberbatch’s maternal grandmother used to baby sit me. She was my mum’s landlady in Brighton and sometimes looked after me when my mum was doing night duty – my mum was a psychiatric nurse. I used to gaze down from our studio flat at her garden and she’d invite me to go down and play. For four-year-old me, it felt magic. Strong memories of such kindness.