I loved it in rehab, says Jenkins

There is something just a little bit flaky about Amy Jenkins, novelist and, more famously, the creator of the television series This Life.

The first time we were supposed to meet, I was told 10 minutes before she was due to arrive that she had come down with a mystery bug. Then, when we finally did hook up, in a bar in Victoria, she seemed oddly distant, as though she was not quite sure why either one of us was there.

Still, since she managed to wangle an envy-inducing £600,000 advance for her first two novels - the second of which, Funny Valentine, has just been published - so perhaps this vagueness is just an act, or even a defence mechanism.

Her first book, Honey Moon, came out two years ago to savage reviews. "Makes Bridget Jones read like Tacitus," wrote one critic. "Commiserations to her publisher." Unfortunately, so far, the response to Funny Valentine, which is about a "principled" young hackette who falls in love with a movie star she is sent to interview, has not fared much better. "Desultory dialogue and pitiful characterisation," said one reviewer. "The publishers have been fleeced."

Jenkins, however, is unruffled. "My advance was so hyped, I was an obvious target," she says, sipping her mineral water. "What matters is whether a book sells. My publisher says 250,000 copies of Honey Moon were sold, which is very good."

Even so, I say, it must have been hurtful; some of the attacks on her writing were so personal. "Well, in a way, that made it easier to deal with. It was a bit like becoming the most unpopular girl in the school playground. You kind of think, well, why me? But I read bitchy pieces about other people all the time and I don't tend to think worse of them afterwards. I just think the writer is being bitchy.

"My life is my life and I know who I am, and my friends know who I am. What other people say is irrelevant." She pauses. "But I would take issue with the fact that all the reviews were bad. According to my PR, some of them were quite nice - and look at the quotes on the back of my new book. They're good."

To be fair, it is possible that some reviewers are just a tiny bit envious of poor old Amy - and not only because of the size of her advance. She is good looking - with a swirl of brown hair that matches her eyes, plus a toothy, ready smile - and, in many ways, she has had a charmed life. She is the daughter of the political writer Peter Jenkins, who died when she was in her twenties, and her stepmother is journalist Polly Toynbee. When Jenkins was 21, she inherited a house in Chelsea from her grandmother.

Jenkins had done a law degree but, because she hated the idea of becoming an lawyer, she was busy running a stall selling T-shirts in Portobello Market She filled the house with friends (it later became the inspiration for This Life), and began taking a few too many drugs. Things got a little out of control; she felt, she says now, like she was "spinning 10ft above the earth".

Then, two things happened. First, she went into rehab and began having therapy. Second, she met the director Danny Boyle, who was looking for a "rave consultant" for an Inspector Morse episode. Boyle encouraged her to write, and, mere months later, she had put up her idea for This Life. At last, she was writing for a living.

Jenkins talks about her druggy days with just a smidgeon of pride in her voice. "I was doing ecstasy every week," she says. "Plus lots of other stuff because once you are high on E you don't really notice how much alcohol and coke you do. I did that on and off for about four or five years.

"Then my boyfriend at the time went into rehab. He was the real addict - I was the sober one who used to drive us home - but as he got cleaner, so did I. However, I got quite depressed, so I decided to go into rehab myself. I loved rehab. I really recommend it. It's like going on retreat. You're not allowed books or TV or music; you get up at dawn and go to bed at sunset. Suddenly, you realise how over-stimulated we all are."

Her life is as soft and clean as fresh pillow cases these days. "Now, I'm incredibly sensitive to any substance and I have to be very careful about what I eat. My life is transformed. There used to be 10 people living in my house. We were in and out of each other's rooms and each other's heads. Everything was a blur. I didn't know where I ended and someone else began. Now I have boundaries; there's some clarity in my life. I meditate, I go to bed early and I wake up without a hangover. I enjoy the simple things more.

She adds: "Therapy was crucial. I think when you're damaged, it's hard to grow up. My mother died when I was very young, and I hadn't resolved that. We're not encouraged to grieve, and my belief is that the grief then stays with you and comes out in other areas of your life."

When Honey Moon came out, Jenkins, who is in her mid-thirties, joked that she was "terminally single". Has anything changed on that front?

"Well, I do have a love life. But I've been thinking about this. When people ask you if are single, what exactly do they mean? If they mean that I live alone, and that I'm financially independent, then, yes, I'm single. But when will I not be single? When I'm married?"

Hmm. This is confusing but - grrr! - she will say no more. Does she fear getting older and being replaced by writers younger and more on the money than herself ?

"No. I'd like it if I was. I don't want to be a chick-lit writer for ever. I intend my writing to mature with me."

Unlike most authors, Jenkins appears to have absolute faith in her own abilities - particularly in her talent for making enough money to survive. When she landed her big advance she did, she admits, feel rather rich. She bought a shiny new BMW and started looking at the leather jackets in her favourite shops. She also managed to save quite a lot of it - though it seems unlikely she will have to visit the building society any time soon to dip into her reserves.

"My publisher has approached me to do another two books - I've already got an idea I'm quite keen on for the first one - and I'm going to write a series for the BBC about fame and burning out young."

Meanwhile, there is Funny Valentine to promote. When Honey Moon came out, her publisher threw what she now calls a "monumental" launch party, for which she wore a white Ghost dress matched with a veil, bought "for 20 quid from Virgin brides"; she still squeals at the memory. This time, however, she has decided to be more low-key. The launch party will be for friends and she will host it at home, in Chelsea.

I get the impression that, breezy self-confidence aside, she is unlikely to open her smart front door disguised as a box of chocolates. Jenkins may claim not to read her reviews, but one suspects that, somehow or other, they get to her all the same.

Funny Valentine (Flame, £10) is out now.