I’m working flat out with the hot breath of the deadline hounds on my neck so I have little of interest for a blog post. Got up, wrote 800 words, deleted 250 of them, went to bed. That kind of thing. But I’ve also been travelling a bit, an indulgence completely compatible with working because I pack A4 pads and write longhand. It gives me a welcome break from the computer screen and my optician approves.

Travel means airports. Airports mean noise, crowds, men in flipflops, delays and the humiliation of having Security investigate your handbag right down to the layer that contains biscuit crumbs and old bus tickets. You also have to run the gauntlet of the perfume squiffers and massive displays of Toblerone. If there is a way to get to the departure gates without completing the Tax Free slalom I have yet to find it. Really the only good news about airports is that because of my neurotic insistence on getting air-side way too early, once I’m there I have time to read.

Which brings me to my recommendation. Last week’s flight delays were made perfectly bearable by 2 a.m. at the Cat’s Pajamas. Marie-Helene Bertino needs no help from me. She’s already picking up bouquets. I’ll just say that she has a completely original voice, sharp, funny, poignant. All this and she looks about seventeen. Give her a whirl.