Harrogate a go go!

I can't quite believe that the time is upon us again, but tomorrow around about lunchtime I shall be climbing into the Batmobile and making the long journey north to Yorkshire - land of the cloth cap and whippet. For a number of days it will be impossible to count afterwards, I shall be engaged in all manner of crime-writery shenanigans, of which the drinking of much beer and talking of much toot will play a large part. I have every hope that Agent Phil, of the simian imitation, will lay on some alternative entertainment of an evening. Failing that I can always make fun of John's beard. And drag Mr Stuart into the pub quiz.

And as if that wasn't exciting enough, last night at around midnight I typed the final sentences of the de-ghostified version of The Book of Souls. For those of you who like that sort of thing, it goes:

‘It’s all right.’ McLean released Emma’s hand and stood up. She didn’t move, didn’t protest, didn’t do anything to make him stay. ‘I’ll come back tomorrow.’
And the day after that, he thought as he pushed his way out into the corridor. And the day after that.

Not very good, grammatically speaking, but suitably morose. Notice how I didn't say I'd finished the book - there's still a couple of sections that need to be inserted earlier on - but I'm quietly satisfied with the progress of the thing.

Now all I need to do is persuade someone to publish it. I wonder where I might find an editor or two in need of a drink...