I should begin by saying that my desk never looks likes this. When I started out with this writing lark I still had young children, so the table where I wrote was often littered with Lego and orphaned plimsolls as well as my own clutter. These days I have no such excuse but my desk is still a dumping ground for items that betray my flea-like mind. Things I’m going to do, things I should have done last week. The one pesky thing that’s gone from the heap this morning is The Book. It landed on my editor’s desk late last night.