Marian Keyes chronicles a day in the life of her fabulous, perfect alter-ego.
outlines her perfectly fabulous life
You know the way sometimes a fabulous, famous woman tells us about her average day? Well, this is what I wish I could write... “Every day I wake at 6am on the dot. I’ve no need of an alarm clock or any of that nonsense, my body knows when it’s had all the sleep it needs and simply wakes of its own accord. I’m lucky enough to have several homes – an 18-room apartment on the Upper West Side, a four-storey house in
Primrose Hill, a charming cottage in the Stockholm archipelago and a light-filled, overwater modernist glass cube in Sydney.
“There was a time when I had a tendency to bite people until I’d had eight capsules of Kazaar Nespresso, but these days, after three glasses of the special sulphur water I have imported specially from Pompeii, I’m raring to go – straight onto my deck, which juts far out into the ocean, for my morning BarreConcept. A Russian dance master used to coach me, but it got a little embarrassing when I became better than him and he was charging me £375 an hour and calling me ‘veak end lazy’, so we said our farewells.
“After 50 minutes of pliées, I step into my outdoor rainforest shower. Then a gentle knock on my bedroom door tells me my breakfast tray has been left outside. My staff are amazing – so thorough – I never have a moment when I look at the remote control and think, ‘Christ alive, when was the last time this thing was cleaned?’ They’re also discreet enough that I never see them scrubbing my kitchen floor, so I’m spared chronic, gnawing guilt.
“Breakfast might be miso broth or an eggwhite omelette, and yes, I used to think egg-white omelettes constituted cruel and unusual punishment, but now I understand it’s all about simply deciding that egg-white omelettes are delicious. I have mine with 35g of plain kale and perhaps an avocado smoothie. The days when my ideal breakfast involved me lying on the floor and pouring Sugar Puffs straight at my face are long in the past.
“Especially because I keep my daily carb intake under 15g.
“Of course, I love sweet things, but find them so filling – I think mini Magnums should be rebranded because actually they’re huge. And when I look at pick’n’mix stations, I don’t see pretty, irresistible jellies that I want to cram, handful after handful, into my mouth until I feel pleasantly queasy – no, I see toxic little balls of death. A fizzy cola bottle? Why not just give me a cyanide capsule?
“Before I start work, it’s time for the DHL man. I once met Miuccia Prada and she thought I was ‘delightful’, and as a result I get deliveries of next season’s Prada or Miu Miu a few times a month. They’re always gorgeous – I mean, it’s Miuccia! – but sometimes even the sample sizes are too big for me. And if it’s not stuff from Miuccia, it could be cripplingly expensive skincare such as Natura Bissé or the Tom Ford make-up range. (Tom loves me too. He sent me his entire womenswear collection the other day. I said, ‘Tom, you bad man! There was no need to send the handbag in every colour.’ But he said, ‘Marian, the thought of you wearing my clothes makes me happy.’ And who am I to deny Tom Ford his happiness?)
“I have a husband and we have huge amounts of astonishingly inventive sex; after all these years, we still can’t keep our hands off each other. Like teenagers, we are.
“Then it’s time for work! I write novels that are huge bestsellers and get critical acclaim, so not once have I been insulted at a party by people asking, ‘Just how many of your bonkbusters do you churn out a year?’
“I sit at my keyboard and instantly the words start to flow. I never stare in despair at an empty screen or slam my head on my keyboard and shout, ‘This is a load of rubbish,’ or delete an
I have a husband and we have huge amounts of inventive sex; after all these years, we still can’t keep our hands off each other.
I don’t stop to eat for the simple reason that I don’t get hungry, and under no circumstances do I look at the clock at 9.35am and wonder if it’s too early for lunch.
entire day’s work because it’s dross, or announce to the four empty walls, ‘That’s it! I’m retraining as a nail technician!’
“I don’t stop to eat for the simple reason that I don’t get hungry, and under no circumstances do I look at the clock at 9.35am and wonder if it’s too early for lunch. But at 3.30pm I force myself away from my desk and go for a run. I don’t jog – I run. I haven’t an addictive bone in my body, except maybe when it comes to exercise.
“When I return, I meditate for 30 minutes, managing to still my mind into blissful silence, and no way do I think, ‘Oh Christ, I’d better make that dentist’s appointment, I can’t keep putting it off for ever.’ Or, ‘Why the hell did I invite those people over tonight? I really just want to slump on the couch and watch eight hours of telly.’
“Evenings vary. If it’s not my night to volunteer at the soup kitchen or my movie club (we’re currently exploring Yugoslavian cinema under Tito), we have an eclectic group of talented, beautiful friends round for dinner. I’m a calm, skilled cook and don’t find having to have the stuffed pheasant ready at the same time as the kohlrabi at the same time as the quinoa stressful enough to warrant a Xanax. We sit at our 20ft-long limed oak dining table and chat and laugh late into the night and no one gets messy drunk and follows someone’s else’s boyfriend into the downstairs loo.
“When I get into bed, I don’t lie awake for several hours, my head whirling like a washing machine, wondering how I can con my doctor into giving me some delicious verboten sleeping pill. I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow and never wake at 4am, feeling like an imposter and a failure and that all my teeth are going to fall out. My life is in perfect balance.”
Yes, well... I no longer eat the Sugar Puffs.
It’s a start.