I was sorely tempted to remark that I was far more interested in the what-have-you than anything else, but wisely I kept my counsel and let my father vent his feelings upon the matter. In any case, I was not totally displeased when Papa informed me that he would agree to my leaving the family home in deepest Surrey for what he termed 'The Fleshpots of the Metropolis' on the understanding that I would take up part-time employment as an editorial consultant at the old-established publishing house of Hartfield and Moser in Bloomsbury.

He growled: 'The company is owned by Lord Neumann, an old friend of your mother's family. Not that Freddie actually does anything except attend the annual directors' meeting, of course, but naturally his word is law. So you'll report to Mr. Geoffrey MacArthur, the managing editor, within a week of your arrival in London or I'll withdraw your allowance.' Nevertheless, I was happy enough to promise my compliance with this condition although as I suspected, Mr. MacArthur was hardly brimming with enthusiasm at this idea. However, we rapidly reached a most satisfactory understanding about my duties, the most important feature of which was that I was not expected to put in a daily appearance at Hartfield and Moser's offices in Bedford Square. But I did agree to keep an appointment with MacArthur's secretary every Thursday morning at eleven o'clock to pick up a bundle of unsolicited manuscripts sent in to the firm by hopeful budding authors.

'Like our fellow publishers, we call it the “slush” pile,' explained Mr. MacArthur. 'Perhaps this is because it usually consists of revoltingly sentimental novels written by genteel maiden ladies living in places like Chichester, Frinton-on-Sea or Tewkesbury.

'Still, as it is just within the bounds of possibility that a new Ouida or George Eliot may be lurking in the dross of the “slush” pile, all these stories have to be read. So I'm giving you this responsible job, Andrew. You might as well take the scripts home to read and the following week you can return those you have ploughed through to my secretary who will then send them back to their authors with a rejection slip.'