Today is publication day for To Catch a Rabbit in its new edition. I’ve got two copies of the book right next to me on the kitchen table and my seventeen year-old son has just come in and picked one up. ‘Nice texture,’ he says. He reads the back cover and asks a question about the story. He has a signed copy of the first edition upstairs, in its original livery of blues and greys. He hasn’t read it though. That’s OK, I think. I remember reading that JG Ballard’s daughter didn’t read his work when she was growing up. There is something uncomfortable for a child about getting inside their parent’s head. Especially, in my case, if that parent’s head is full of murder, trafficking and prostitution. I can tell him it’s all made up, but is that true? I’m not saying my work is autobiographical, but it can’t be anything other than a reflection of the world I see and experience. One of the subplots in To Catch a Rabbit is about a Zimbabwean family who slip through the cracks while awaiting the outcome of their asylum claim, meanwhile, in the real world, today a five year old and his mother have been removed to a detention centre from their home in Gateshead, before deportation to Nigeria. I sign a petition online and I sign a new book for my son’s ‘collection’ and realise how lucky we are, in many, many ways. Happy publication day. Let’s all carry on reading and writing fiction to help us make sense of the world we live in. (PS To Catch a Rabbit also contains love, a little bit of sex, and one or two jokes.)