Literary injury

Last week I went to a publishing party in London hosted by Bloomsbury. Star-struck and unsober, I must admit that I didn’t see any of the following: Harry Potter, JK Rowling, Hagrid, quidditch, Hermione, dragons or wands.

My knee was, however, assaulted by a designer-handbag-yielding Sophie Dahl. I resisted crumbling to the ground like Michael Owen when she said “Sorry there”. She has a book out called Playing with the Grown-Ups, which I hear is rather good.