Three years ago, I wrote a book called The Song of Panne, which told the story of how my dear, long suffering wife Corinna and I ended up having a hairy humanoid forest Godling (to steal Kipling's nomenclature) living in the airing cupboard in what used to be my father's dressing room. You can take it as fiction if you like, or you can believe every word I say. Believe it or not, it truly doesn't matter to me one way or another. This book continues...