“You don’t like the way Harry and all his friends get decapitated with an enormous axe?” “Not so much,” says the publisher.

I put a hand to my hip. “Or the way Voldemort disintegrates the body parts into a fine magic dust, which he sprinkles across time and space, thus eradicating Harry Potter et al from existence for ever?”

I’ve developed this weird tic whenever I pick up a pen. I sort of stop concentrating and start assuming it is a wand. The actress who plays Hermione Granger hands me a fountain pen and asks me to sign her copy of The Chamber of Secrets. I do, but it’s a close thing. I very nearly flick ink in her face and scream “Avada Kedavra!”

I suppose there is always crucifixion, I muse, staring at the back of Daniel Radcliffe’s head. That could work. I should rather like to see Harry crucified. Radcliffe sees me staring and goes quite pale.