Sequels Are Very Rarely A Good Idea,

...i Feel As Though I Made A Face And The Wind Changed, And Now I Have To Go Through Life Grimacing In This Horrible Way.

The Kind Of Love My Mum Talks About Is Full Of Worry And Work And Forgiving People And Putting Up With Things And Stuff Like That. It's Not A Lot Of Fun, That's For Sure. If That Really Is Love, The Kind My Mum Talks About, Then Nobody Can Ever Know If They Love Somebody, Can They? It Seems Like What She's Saying Is, If You're Pretty Sure You Love Somebody, The Way I Was Sure In Those Few Weeks, Then You Can't Love Them, Because That Isn't What Love Is. Trying To Understand What She Means By Love Would Do Your Head In.

I See Now That Dismissing Ya Books Because You're Not A Young Adult Is A Little Bit Like Refusing To Watch Thrillers On The Grounds That You're Not A Policeman Or A Dangerous Criminal, And As A Consequence, I've Discovered A Previously Ignored Room At The Back Of The Bookstore That's Filled With Masterpieces I've Never Heard Of.

I Don't Think You Can Call It Stalking When It's Just Phone Calls And Letters And Emails And Knocking On The Door.

When It Came Down To It, He Just Wasn't That Engaged. You Had To Be Engaged To Be A Vegetarian; You Had To Be Engaged To Sing "both Sides Now" With Your Eyes Closed; When It Came Down To It, You Had To Be Engaged To Be A Mother.