Another day, another submission. I’ve put that book out to another agent and, as much as I want to put my feet up, I’m focusing on the new book at the moment.

I don’t think I’m going to spend too much time pimping the previous effort. Although a number of people have read and, indeed, enjoyed it, that’s a bit like having your mum tell you you’re really good at football – when the evidence suggests you’ll always be the last one picked.

So I’ll keep the submission work in the background for the time being. You never know, I might strike it lucky. Or that book really is the wheezy kid with the short leg who’ll only ever play in goal.

I’ve also pushed a short story out to a US publications that specialises in pulp. It’s a piece I wrote a while back that I’ve always liked. I developed it into half a novel as, even though it was great fun to write, commercially it didn’t stand a chance.

The dates for my next head-on encounter are set. So I’ll be staggering across cliff-tops on the north-Cornwall coast during February. Surprisingly, I don’t need any new gear. Which is a blessing as I’ve never been so poor in my life. Having a family is a bit like living with a group of muggers who constantly threaten you with emotional lady-feelings instead of knives. Or something like that anyway.