Monday mornings are generally quiet here - you may remember the second episode of Black Books with Dylan Moran explaining to Bill Bailey that noone buys books before ten 0 clock - a statement easily applicable to Mondays at P.O.P. Normally, it's post (Bills, submissions, bills, why haven't you replied to my submission?) review trawl (often sadly empty, cue bitter comments like ' good to see that Thomas Harris is getting so much attention, he really NEEDS the exposure') coffee, so, what are we going to do this week? etc.
But this morning it's all a flurry as we're trying to get together a very very exciting translation project involving top european authors, their agents, their publishers, their translators etc. 'Sign this please, you want what? how much? MUST you have a contract? We're all gentlemen here no? Well, lady whatever, just sign the damn paper!' all to an almost unworkable deadline.
Then there will be an interview published in Saturday's Telegraph to mark his 80th birthday and we need a recent photo except that the most recent one we have is Peter sitting with Jane Bowles in Tangier circa 1967 and also a shipment of Kokoro that got delayed so all the books mntioned previosuly have to go out this week, Loving Mephistopheles party to plan, help! It's One o'Clock and I still haven't finished my morning coffee . . .