Today I am in frisky mood, for I am packing my bags to go on holiday for the first time since a long weekend in Paris at the beginning of May.
Before Neil Armstrong (who died on 25 August) set foot on the moon, science-fiction writers had often envisaged the first visit by human beings to another world.
Well, that’s it, the book is done and you will hear no more about it from me in this column. Apart from this. It so nearly didn’t get done. Or, to be precise, so nearly didn’t happen.
Rape happens everywhere. It is happening today in Syria, as the Assad government’s thugs rampage and humiliate, and as a weapon of war in the east of the Democratic Republic of Congo. It happened in mass rape camps in Bosnia in the 1990s. It happens to women and to men and to children.