Kate lives in London with her husband – Tortoise Media founder James Harding – and two children.
Here, she tells us what makes for a life well lived.
Where do you call home?
Oh, wow. There’s a short and a long answer to that and the long one is seriously self-involved and contains phrases like ‘child of an immigrant family’, ‘boarding-school scars’ and ‘Mediterranean soul’. So, I’ll spare you that. Let’s plump for: a terraced house in north-west London.
Do you prefer pottering around the house or pottering in the garden?
Can I say: depends on the weather? Honest answer: I’d like to think I'm one of those wrap-up-warm and brave-the-elements types who is always looking for inspiration from the silhouettes of blackened trees.
In reality, if it’s cold, grey or raining, you’re more likely to find me scouring the house for a lost notebook (someone should give me shares in Moleskine) or making my ninth coffee. If there’s even a glimmer of brightness in the sky, though, I find it hard to stay indoors.
What was the last item of clothing you bought?
Does a pair of IZIPIZI reading glasses count? Sadly, I share the same preference in colour (tortoiseshell), shape (nearly rounded) and strength (currently plus one) as my husband, which causes a lot of arm-wrestling and accusations of theft but neither of us wants to back down. It’s a long-sighted, deadly serious war of attrition. I thought about putting stickers on the inside of the arms to identify mine, but I decided it would make things less fun.
What’s for dinner tonight?
Not sure. You find me on a plane to NYC for the weekend. I think we are eating Mexican tonight but it’s still up for grabs.
What is your favourite hotel in the world?
Since the advent of Airbnb I haven’t stayed in that many hotels, but I’m a huge fan of amazing restaurants that have a few simple rooms. Last year, I went to a place just south of the bay of Naples called Lo Scoglio, which is a floating seafood restaurant with incredible crudi (basically, the Italian version of sashimi) and some simple rooms that look over a pebbly beach. There’s somewhere else called La Sirena, which is a fish restaurant, also with rooms, on a small, far-flung Aeolian island called Filicudi. You’ll spot the theme...
What is on your bedside table?
Right now, Hello Beautiful by Ann Napolitano and All the Colours of the Dark by Chris Whitaker. Also After You’d Gone by Maggie O’Farrell and Moon Tiger by Penelope Lively, both of which I’ve read a number of times but I'm doing so again, for work reasons.
When I start up a new novel and I’m playing with characters and voice, I try to find a couple of books that hit a similar note – perhaps in the story, perhaps in the voice – and soak myself in them, for inspiration.
You have unexpected spare time on your hands: do you fill it with a podcast or novel or what?
If I happened to have a novel to hand, I’d do that. If I was in the car, I’d listen to a podcast like the brilliant narrative ones that Tortoise makes. Most often, though, I’d ring a friend. A lot of my friends are writers, too, including both of my sisters, so generally I can find someone who is willing to procrastinate with me and talk life/love/writing, preferably with a coffee in hand.
Which beauty product couldn’t you do without?
Chocolate-brown eyeliner. I’m promiscuous with brands though recently loved Victoria Beckham. I don’t wear much make-up, but I love far-too-heavily kohled eyes. Wearing it can either feel like putting on dancing shoes or stepping into a full suit of armour, depending on the situation.
To what or where would you book tickets tomorrow if you could?
I’d like to go back to Shakespearean times and watch Hamlet or King Lear at the Globe, please, with Shakespeare sitting next to me. I’m sure things would smell a bit, and I might want to be carrying some mint Tic Tacs to offer around, but I’ve got a lifetime of questions to ask.
What is your most prized possession?
I’ve often wondered what I would grab, aside from my family, if there was a fire in the house. But the truth is there are not many things that it would really hurt to lose. It’s a toss-up between my very beaten-up black and rainbow-stitched cowboy boots and my rusty, white 1976 Renault 4, which on a sunny day when its roof is folded open, feels like a joyful, time-travelling machine.
