Publisher's Synopsis
A comedy of self-delusion, swirly carpets and the hell that is other people's washing up.
When she follows her boyfriend of 24 hours from Las Vegas to the worst shared house in South London, Daisy's sure that, at last, and at 29, she's going to work out what to do with her unique talents (whatever they are). But while Rob's off doing rocket-science, Daisy is left alone, penniless, bored and miserable and trying, futilely, to get along with loathsome Leni, nervy Sophia and fluffy-cardiganed Jo, and with only her diary to occupy her. At least her housemates' horrible lives provide good material, although she needs to find out more about them, preferably when they're out. With their rooms unlocked. No one could object to a little 'research' could they? After all, she's a writer - sort of.
But if this is Daisy's private diary, how has it fallen into the hands of the mysterious Editor, and how do we come to be reading it, along with nasty notes about the state of the kitchen bin, other people's diaries, bad film-scripts, worse poetry, letters from distressed Spaniards and pages from the telephone message pad? Who, exactly, is telling this story, and can we believe any of it?
Excruciatingly funny and wickedly well observed, Darling Daisy is for everyone who knows they can do anything - when they can just decide what that is, and stop having to take everyone else's phone messages.
