Sometimes, nice things happen

This week, having sent off Murder Imperfect to my long suffering editor last week, I had a couple of days off, cleared out the office and the understairs cupboard and discovered I have a new deadline for a new book, Murder to Music, due out next April.

A few weeks ago, I sent a large parcel to son Leo in Manchester. It never arrived, and all attempts to trace it have failed. This morning - guess what? A large parcel in a blue plastic bag arrived addressed to the Occupier. Inside was my parcel ...