A little old lady recently rushed across the bookshop and grabbed my hand. ‘I’ve always wanted to meet you,’ she said, ‘and tell you that I read one or two pages of your book before I fall fast asleep at night.’
I took it as a compliment. She went on to tell me that she goes away every summer with a caseload of books. ‘Where do you go?’ I asked. ‘Only my sister’s a few miles away. But with the books it’s like I have the whole world there in front of me.’
What a wonderfully perceptive lady. Opening a book is like stepping through the door into a different world filled with excitement, colour, danger and new friends. I remember as a kid finding myself in my bedroom on a cold November night. A gale was blowing outside yet in my world I was running along the beach of Treasure Island with Jim Hawkins, the sand between my toes and the sound of crashing surf and the shouts of pirates pounding in my ears. Books are entirely magical - cheaper than easyJet, more comfortable than Ryanair, and you always fly first class.
It’s been a tough summer so far, what with recession and the wretched English football. Oh, if only English forwards had chased the ball with half as much determination as their bosses at the FA have chased their secretaries! But I’m excited about the next few weeks. I have a pile of books to read, distant worlds to visit – and a play to finish writing. And I’ll have that very special privilege given to authors of knowing that I will be in the company of many new friends, even if one or two of them fall asleep on me.
