Is it Christmas yet?

Of course it isn't, and I shouldn't even be mentioning the 'c' word yet, because, despite the lashing rain, the swirling wind and the dark satanic clouds plus the fact I am now sleeping 'neath the duvet after weeks of sleeping on top, there is yet another week of August to go, and I'm full of hope for an Indian summer.

But the reason I mention Christmas is that Andy said at the weekend (in between bottling his vast quantities of wine and baking some rather delicious digestive biscuits) that he thought it would be a good idea to self-publish 'Nearly King Jimbo' and give copies to our family and friends as Christmas gifts. As if they haven't suffered enough.

Anyway, I said that I thought that would be a good idea, too, having come to the conclusion a while ago that it is unlikely I am going to be published through the conventional manner of being taken on by an agent, who then engages two or more publishers in a wild bidding war thereby elevating me to the higher eschelons of the writing world where I get to be driven around in the back of a Lexus and win all the best new-comer awards for the year 2011-2012.

Yes, the only way I'm going to see my work in print is to DIY it. So Andy is going to explore the various self-publishing outlets and then spend many evenings faffing about with the manuscript until something resembling a book emerges.

And this brings me to a teeny tiny problemette.

'I'll have to re-edit the script,' I said.
'Do you have a copy?' said Andy.
'Oh yes,' I said, blithely, for although my old lap top, which contains the full script is now dead and therefore has trapped the aforesaid full script FOREVER inside its flippy floppy hardly discy drive thing, I was pretty bloomin' certain I had printed off a full copy when I was touting the book around agents a couple of years ago. And I said as much to Andy.
'Did you save a copy on a memory stick?' said Andy.
'Errmmmmm....well, possibly....not....' I said, because I am notoriously bad at performing such technical tasks. Besides, I didn't expect my 5 year old laptop to go clunk and give up the ghost when it did.

Andy gave me his rebuking look. I went in search of the full paper script I was certain existed somewhere.

I found half a paper script. Up to the bit where Nearly King Jimbo is being a farmer and the pigs are discussing how nice it had been to have potato wedges with their pizza the night before. (Nearly King Jimbo wasn't terribly au fait with how to feed farm animals at this point.) I also found the synopsis.

'Pants,' I thought. I handed all my memory sticks to Andy to explore; he also searched his own computer in case by some miracle he'd downloaded the whole script when he'd put it on Authonomy for me.

It appears not. It appears that I shall have to re-write the second half of the book again. 'Pants,' I thought, especially as the second half involves a character called Mrs Bobbinflaxenfluff (awkward spelling) and a scenario involving the annual Titbury Weaving and Creative Knitting Association competition (complex plot twist involving an angora goat), and Nearly King Jimbo helping Alice choose a dress (not pink) for the prize winning exhibition evening (Alice is a very difficult person to buy non-pink dresses for).

Andy didn't exactly say, 'That'll learn ya to save things on memory sticks,' but I knew he was thinking it.

Anyway, Andy is going to illustrate the book so it becomes a joint effort. He is, as you know, a very talented cartoonist, and has already done a drawing of one of the characters, a Mr Jobble, who rides a tricycle. The drawing looks exactly how I imagined Mr Jobble to be - a cross between Captain Mainwairing and Su Pollard.

So I need to crack on with the writing which I shall call editing to make it sound like I haven't really lost half the script. But still there is a niggle that I HAVE got a full copy somewhere. If only I could remember where...

'I say,' says Mrs Miggins, flicking through a hefty sheaf of neatly typed papers. 'This is quite entertaining in a simple and absurd way.'
'It's even got chickens in it,' said Mrs Pumphrey. 'And I like the bit where Alice teaches Nearly King Jimbo how to deal with a goose attack.'
'Yes,' agrees Mrs Miggins, 'and in theory it should work. I wonder if he'll get a chance to try it out?'
'Well, let's read on,' says Mrs Pumphrey. 'Digestive biscuit with your dandelion wine?'
'Don't mind if I do,' says Mrs Miggins. 'Pass me the next page and I'll read on.'

Mrs Slocombe sticks her head around the library door. 'I'm cleaning out the nest box,' she says. 'And I've run out of shredded paper for the bedding.'
Mrs Pumphrey looks around. 'Will this do?' she says, finding a sheaf of neatly typed paper in her lap.
'Lovely,' says Mrs Slocombe.

Five minutes later, the paper shredder Andy inadvertently got as a Christmas present three years ago, grinds itself into action...