I wrote this novel in February on the Marco Polo on my South American voyage. It came to me in a dream. I wrote it very quickly.

I then rewrote it before I arrived back home.

It is short and has pace. I am in two minds whether to keep it as it is, with the scant description but fast pace, or to flesh out the characters and add description to make it into a proper novel with more substance. If I flesh it out it will lose the pace.

At the moment it is a yarn. I kind of like that.

Today I am meeting up with my friend, ex-colleague and editor Chris. He has read it through a couple of times and has suggestions. He’s got a good eye for books. We are going to discuss the book.

I would be very interested in your views on this.

Chapter 1 – Walking the dog

It was one of those perfect English summer evenings. The type of evening that topped off a day that was so absolutely impeccable that you knew you wouldn’t want to live anywhere else in the world but England. It made you forget all those other cold, rainy days of numbing dreariness. This day was sublime. The sun was setting; a warm breeze shook the leaves. The lush green fields had crisped in the summer sun to form swathes of long dry grass, punctuated with bright meadow flowers, that was ruddy with the glow of that slowly descending ball of fire that was the summer sun. All was right with this part of the world.

Sam, my black and white border collie, was off the lead as I walked him down the dusty, deserted back track that straggled across those fields. There were no sheep in these hay meadows for him to worry, and the cows had been brought in long ago, so he was safe to bound around as free as a breeze, futilely chasing rabbits and startling the odd pheasant into flight. He was inept at hunting but loved the chase. He’d only ever caught one rabbit in his entire life, and that was a young one, and it had so surprised him to have run it down that he had not known what to do with it. He’d brought it back to me with a look of complete puzzlement and gently passed it over into my hands. I could see that he was glad to have the decision of what to do with it taken away from him. I had lightly held the terrified creature, an immature doe. It appeared uninjured but I could feel that young rabbit’s little heart beating like a little motor in its chest. Sam had held it so softly in his mouth but still it must still have been the most alarming experience anyone can imagine. I held Sam’s collar while I let that rabbit go. We both watched it scurry away into the undergrowth to live another day. Sam had a wistful expression on his face. I’m not sure he was totally in agreement with what I had done. All that effort for nothing. Dogs are so transparent.

I ambled along, hands deep in pockets, whistling to myself. I like to whistle. Nobody else does these days. It seems to have gone out of fashion. Once, everybody whistled. It was the sound of happiness. I was enjoying watching Sam bouncing through the long grass like some furry black and white porpoise. HIs enjoyment was infectious. He always made me feel happy. So I whistled.

Sam was fearless and loyal. He was one of those dogs who would protect you from anything. He’d give his life for you without a thought. If a grizzly bear were to come out of the woods Sam would stand his ground between me and it. He’d growl and bare his teeth and die trying to protect me. He was my dog.

Fortunately there were no grizzly bears in Yorkshire. The worst you could do in these parts was to stub your toe on a hedgehog.

As Sam came springing back towards me I strolled further up the lane between two high Hawthorne hedges and he raced up to join me, panting from his exertions, long pink tongue lolling out of his mouth and dripping with saliva. There was a happy spark in his eyes. You’d swear he was grinning.

We strolled up the lane side by side. There was a gap in the hedge which is when we both simultaneously saw it. It caused us to both freeze in our footsteps. My whistling froze on my lips.

We stood as if held in a spell, in incredulity, peering into the field like idiots. Sam recognised that this was something out of the ordinary and certainly out of his experience. He instantly came to the conclusion that anything that strange was potentially very dangerous. This definitely was outside his compass of responsibility. He turned tail and streaked back home leaving me standing there on my own, gawping.

Perhaps I should have followed suit and raced after Sam; or at least slowly backed away, or some such thing. I didn’t.

I didn’t budge. I stood and stared.

And that is how I came to be President of the World.