’That’s a trick question. I’m a fecking writer, give me a break’

IT’S 2am, the witching hour, and I’m in London, standing in my son’s kitchen, holding a coffin-sized box of hopes and dreams; inside it are flowers which I am now going to make up into four “small, affordable, classy bouquets”.

A trial run, so to speak, for July 6, when my son launches his daily flower-delivery business online.

Flower selection, which took place just now in Spitalfields Market, was fraught with major difficulties, such as for example, not being able to find it.