I’m unrepresented but still resented. By the regular writers of the pulp I contribute to to keep me and mine from the pawnbrokers; by the witless screenwriters’ minders who know how to quote Lawson, but only in jest; by the rank & file plodders who hate the public, and most of all loathed by academics who have a sort of vision of blue collar, but mix it up with art.

Who could represent me, keep a sense of humour, and stay in the black? Writers’ representatives I’ve met ought to be carrying the hod. In case you’ve not heard of the hod, it is that uncomfortable article roof tilers require to haul their merchandise up onto the pinnacles of their perilous profession.