Cripes. Yours truly is in a bit of bother. Or perhaps I should say a bit of Bozzer! You know how it is. You have a few glasses of wine too many at lunchtime and you wake up six months later to find your publisher is wondering how your book is coming along. So you start writing in a panic, only to remember that a few keys on the laptop don’t walk. Dammit, I meant work. Still, I’m sure everything will be OK in the end. As Sappho once said – I think it was her – nothing can beat a stream of unconsciousness.
Where shall I start? How about September 2019? I’m in New York and the phone rings at 5.30am. And I don’t mind telling you that I’m not at my best that early in the morning. It’s Party Marty on the line. Surely he wasn’t ringing just to let me know that the booze fridge at No 10 was nearly empty.
