Her marriage under strain, novelist NINA STIBBE left her home in Cornwall to lodge with Best Exotic Marigold Hotel author Deborah Moggach. Here, she shares her sharply funny… Diary of my gap year in London, aged 60

• Nina Stibbe details her experiences in London twenty years after leaving the city 
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Twenty years after leaving London, author Nina Stibbe is back in town. Here, we share extracts from her new book Moved To London, Took The Dog, based on her diary — a long-awaited sequel to the laugh-out-loud bestseller Love Nina.

March 26, 2022

It’s official: I’m going to have a year-long London ‘sabbatical’ from my Cornwall life (and marriage). Moving in at the end of April.

March 27

Woke at 2am last night with the full realisation I’m moving back to London — 20 years after moving away — aged 60. With Peggy, my cockapoo, who’s never been to Plymouth, let alone London.

April 27

Move into my new lodgings. After showing me certain light switches, warning me about the fridge door, and giving me a set of keys, Debby left for Kent. Wandered about the house and tried to take it all in.

Eva and Alf [Nina’s London-based student children] came round later for dinner, and I lit candles. I sent a photo of us with our spaghetti and beer cans to Debby saying, ‘Settled in already — thank you’, and imagined her thinking, that bloody lodger’d better not burn the f***ing house down. But she probably didn’t because she replied: ‘Oh, how lovely. Hurrah!’ E & A went home and I did some unpacking. The grapefruit soap I bought myself as a moving-in gift smells of pork. Peggy is unsettled. Stays close at all times.

What the hell am I doing here? (‘Oh God, oh God, oh God.’)

Twenty years after leaving London, author Nina Stibbe, pictured in the capital city, is back in town

April 28

First day living in London after so many years away. I forced myself to venture out although I have a newly acquired bad back, the unfortunate result of swinging my suitcase vigorously out of the car so as not to scratch the paintwork. Otherwise, why am I here?

Camden Town no longer has an electrical repair shop or a fishmonger or a butcher or any meaningful shoe shop. And London, which used to smell of privet hedges, antiperspirant, furniture polish, overripe melons, coffee and various detergents, now smells almost overwhelmingly of weed, even in the morning.

It’s not as if I used to stroll about these streets, all those years ago, brimming with confidence. But now I’m like a creature who escaped the compound and is back, staring through the fence.

Thankfully I’ve made a plan to share Alf’s coffee break and walk over to Sam’s Cafe, where he works. ‘OK, Ma?’ he says. He ushers me to a table in the sunshine, brings us coffee with little leaves in the foam that he’s drawn himself And we share a slice of raspberry cake. It’s all I can do not to cry.

May 2

Peggy and I to Nick Hornby’s for tea and cake. When he opened a cupboard to get the teabags out I noticed a lot of different breakfast cereals. I admire anyone who doesn’t just stick to one and wakes up thinking, ‘Shall I have Frosties, or Rice Krispies, or sugar-free Alpen?’

May 9

Debby often comes to the kitchen to chat. ‘Hello, darling! Tell me all your news.’ And she loves hearing everything and is the best person to tell things to as she shrieks, ‘No? F***ing hell!’ at the bad things, and, ‘Oh, that is good!’ at the good things and she laughs, properly.

Her marriage under strain, novelist Nina left her home in Cornwall to lodge with Best Exotic Marigold Hotel author Deborah Moggach (pictured)

Here, we share extracts from her new book Moved To London, Took The Dog, based on her diary — a long-awaited sequel to the laugh-out-loud bestseller Love Nina

May 10

Sad to find there’s dog s*** everywhere in London. What happened? Is it that people stopped clearing up after their dog or that a whole new bunch of people have got dogs and don’t know the rules? Also, abandoned Lime bikes left, mid-pavement, on their side, as if there’s been an accident, or kidnap.

Met up with my old friend Misty Radnitz, who I haven’t seen properly since I left London.

Feel guilty that I never invited her to Cornwall, laid it on thick that we had two tiny babies and an old wreck of a house, etc, and that Cornwall was very rainy and seemed slightly hostile.

‘It wasn’t all roses,’ I said. I told her about the constant rain, the spray-painted swastika that appeared on a litter bin near our house, the drug-related double murder, and that hardly anyone visited and when they did they all brought Dove soap, which I hate.

I realise, remembering all this, that my move back to London is not as terrifying as the move the other way, when I didn’t know a soul and the children weren’t yet school age and I lived with a person who worked all the hours God sent. How I didn’t die of loneliness I’ll never know.

May 16

Bought a tub of green bean salad, a coffee and a small loaf in Hampstead which somehow cost over £10. Saw Robert Peston. Nice eyes. Tom Cruise is in town. He’s looking less like Tom Cruise these days and more like Sandi Toksvig.

May 17

I always imagined I wouldn’t cope with living alone (partly because I never have, and partly because I’m scared of burglars and going nuts). I now realise that many of my female friends who longed for freedom in their 30s and 40s felt trapped by the demands of a young family, and that once through that phase, they find, on the whole, they want to stay with the original or a new partner.

Even independent, accomplished types (eg Debby), who aren’t the least bit scared of burglars, seem to long for a life partner to share the decision-making about what to watch on telly and to dine with. They will go to great lengths to meet someone who slightly resembles a previous partner but enjoys gardening, and cheese, and tolerates dogs.

May 20

Debby is away. Which means I leave the hall light on all night to deter burglars.

I decide it’s back pain and sadness about my marriage, which now feels broken (marriage, not back), that’s making me so intolerant of the construction noise, foxes, abandoned bikes, the cost of everything (literally £7 for coffee and cake) and having to wade through garbage and s*** every time I step out the house.

Feeling gloomy in the kitchen when Debby comes clanking in with her pushbike. ‘Hello, gorgeous!’ she yells. ‘I’ve just seen the most amazing exhibition,’ and flings me the brochure. ‘Glorious!’

I watch as she rolls a tiny cigarette to have while she writes a play. I vow (again) to be more like her.

May 23

Spotted Alan Bennett resting on a friendship bench in the dappled shade, probably making up stuff for his diary. Thinking, how lovely, I (stupidly) decided I’d quickly take a photo on my phone and send it to my mother (his number-one fan).

Got phone out, and just as I clicked, Alan’s partner Rupert came round the corner (carrying a baguette and a bunch of ranunculi) and seeing my phone aloft, his expression went from warm to stormy and stayed that way all through the unavoidable and lengthy three-way greeting. (‘Hi, how are you?’ ‘Fine, how are you?’)

May 25

Peggy and I dined with Nick Hornby at Sam’s Cafe. I went for the fish special (mackerel/beetroot) and beer, and him, spaghetti. During the meal, I found myself mesmerised by his confident fork-twirling, I wish now I’d secretly filmed Hornby’s calm performance, to play back in moments of stress, to remind myself of the joy of learning to do things properly, and that I am capable of one-to-one dining if I really must.

June 6

I’m not keen on Uber. I’d rather get the bus. Twice I’ve booked and they won’t take Peggy. And it has made no difference how much I beg, they really do not want a dog in their car and are disgusted at my even suggesting it, let alone presenting her at the driver’s-side window to show how nice she is. Peggy’s not loving London, to tell the truth. Have I ruined her life? Everyone’s lives?

June 7

Dinner party at Debby’s. Nick Hornby handed her a bottle of wine and a box of chocolates (Lily O’Brien’s Desserts Collection) saying: ‘Really good chocolates.’ She raised her eyebrows.

Debby had switched with no warning from the planned spinach and cheese thing to her signature fish dish, ‘lovely salmon’ (also works with lamb). It looked quite nice in the candlelit kitchen-diner but seeing Debby’s spatula coming towards him, Hornby said: ‘No, thank you.’

‘What?’ demanded Debby.

‘I don’t eat salmon,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Well, you’ll have to make do with the lentil and chickpea stuff then,’ said Debby. A lovely night except Debby put the chocolates on top of the fridge, unopened — as if to punish Hornby for saying they were good.

June 9

Debby messages from Kent: ‘Do look out for my toad.’

June 10

Debby back. We made a start on Hornby’s chocs. They are v good.

June 14

Some people have mistaken the recent dinner and drink I had with Nick Hornby as my having started a thing with him, which I haven’t.

June 17

National Theatre to see Middle — a short two-hander about midlife heterosexual marriage. A very good script, great performances, but one is left feeling a bit sad and pretty stupid.

You know nuclear family life is going to be a nightmare of boredom and loneliness for all involved without serious tinkering. But still you do it.

June 18

Sir Paul McCartney’s 80th birthday. Women of my sort of age sometimes blame McCartney for their unrealistic expectations of men. I understand this. I truly believed men would be a mix of him and James Herriot: loving, creative, kind, good with animals, and, crucially, light-hearted.

The McCartney/Herriot bar is high, and probably unfair, like men expecting women to be a mix of Debbie Harry and Florence Nightingale.

June 20

Met my old friend Misty for a walk. She is fed up with her new boyfriend. It’s not so much his historical re-enactment activities, eg the Battle of Bosworth Field and lesser-known conflicts at stately homes that end in afternoon tea. It’s that he wears Crocs all the time including a pair for slippers which have lights affixed for night-time safety.

June 30

Missed Debby’s birthday. Luckily it was announced in the Press so I was able to send a belated text: Happy Bday! From Nina (and Peggy)

Went to London, Took The Dog: A Diary by Nina Stibbe (Pan Macmillan, £16.99) to be published November 2

To order a copy for £15.29 (offer valid to 30/10/2023; UK P&P free on orders over £25) go to www.mailshop.co.uk/books or call 020 3176 2937

July 12

God, my children do drink a lot of alcohol. I mean, it’s not illegal and they don’t pass out, as far as I know. But it’s a quick beer at 5 pm. (Alfred refers to it as ‘smashing a cold one down’) and then another and then another pint and then they might move on to vodka and lime.

And then of course they drive around on those electric scooters two of them at once (I mean two on one scooter). And I know it’s not ideal because Eva says she can only drive those scooters when she’s drunk — when she’s not drunk she’s too nervous of the roads.

Dinner with Georgia Pritchett, Succession screenwriter, at Sam’s Cafe. She kept her sunglasses on for quite some time. When she was writing Succession she and other writers had to have lessons in ‘the rich life’ because although she could write characters, story, business stuff and in-fighting at Waystar Royco, no one knows how really rich people actually live.

July 26

Rehearsal for Debby’s play Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. She’s enjoying working with veteran actors Hayley Mills, Rula Lenska and 1980s heart-throb Paul Nicholas. And has got Hayley on to Greggs’ veggie sausage rolls.

Debby tells me that some theatre directors say a ‘f***’ in the first ten minutes loosens the audience up. They don’t have one until act two.

They did have a ‘f*** off’ really early but Rula felt it made the character unsympathetic.

July 27

Parliament Hill walk with Alf. Poached egg at Redemption Roasters. The best we ever had. Alf ordered a latte but what actually came was a flat white. I don’t know how he knew — something to do with the colour or the bubbles.

Do my kids like my sudden reappearance in their lives? I’m asked this a lot. Yes. They do. We like each other. We always have.

August 19

Email from Penguin Books inviting me to a leaving drinks event. RSVP using this multiple-choice form and then the requirement to prove I’m a human by ticking all of the nine fuzzy images which include a chimney.

I failed this test. I failed one with traffic lights earlier in the week and have never once got past the water hydrants one.

August 21

Dinner with Debby. She tells how her first husband once fell asleep while he was shagging her (her words). I asked if she’d ever fallen asleep. No, she says, not asleep as such, but her mind has wandered: ‘Do we need cat food? Or, whatever happened to Liza Goddard? That kind of thing.’

August 22

Two women in Sam’s Cafe reading the same newspaper: ‘Grey divorce is on the rise,’ says one. ‘Barristers are going on strike, just when I want to get divorced. Typical!’

I’m putting off thoughts of divorce until this year is over.

Went to London, Took The Dog: A Diary by Nina Stibbe (Pan Macmillan, £16.99) to be published November 2. © Nina Stibbe 2023. To order a copy for £15.29 (offer valid to 30/10/2023; UK P&P free on orders over £25) go to www.mailshop.co.uk/books or call 020 3176 2937.

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