Well, I don’t like to have to mention him again, but Johnnie’s got a bit of a thing going at Hay.
I mean Hay-on-Wye (of course darling, didn’t you realise it’s that time of year when you just have to be marvellous in tents?) where all Mr Boden’s children have gathered in spotty wellies and stripey towelling tops to meet writers and take part in creative workshops.
I hope I don’t sound critical in any way, as I’m not. I was there with my children, and they met Cressida Cowell, learned to speak Dragonese, and wrote (Ben, voluntarily too) a poem about a giant, and (Hannah) a story about a giantess.
As instructed by two strange men camped out inside a white giant’s pink fluffy brain, they used pseudonyms, as a way of turning the whole literary fame thing on its head.
Perhaps I need to take a leaf out of their book, and reveal to you that I’m not really who I pretend to be, but someone else entirely. Someone much more interesting.
Anyhow, I’m not at home and am sharing this computer with two avid Spider Solitaire fans, so I have to get off before I’ve had time to come up with a decent ending.