SKIRMISHER

Back at the office my producer asked me how it went. Had I got her to sign the book?

“No point,” I said, confidently. “When you’ve read as many books as I have, you know instinctively when something is going to be a hit. You mark my words. We won’t hear of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone ever again.”

Not the best critical judgment of my life – in fact, the literary equivalent of the record company boss who told a mop-topped foursome called the Beatles that guitar bands were over. I am the man who thought there was no future in the talkies, who believed computers would never take off.

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