Unnnnngh… I’ve never liked staying in hotels. Being one of those picky sods who needs complete silence and darkness to get any sort of sleep at all – even in my own bed – the whole experience just doesn’t work for me. Last night’s non-slumber comes courtesy of a bed like marshmallow, sheets like starched sandpaper and what wounded like an entire rock band, presumably out of their faces on various chemicals, determined to make as much noise as possible at completely random intervals. I swear they were having sex with reticent camels... that's what it sounded like anyway. And they seemed to be staying in every single room adjacent to mine. Including the diagonals on up and downstairs. Not a good start to the day, especially as I’m due to have drinks at HarperCollins tonight, followed by a meal out on the town with my lovely publishing team – all very nice ladies. Will they be terribly disappointed if I fall asleep in the soup and start making little snoring bubbles of pea and ham?