If it were not for Fred and George, I would probably not be here.

It’s a reasonable assumption. I had no real ambition to be a published (or blogging) author beyond that vague feeling that ‘there must be a book inside me’. As far as I knew I had the ‘wrong sort of brain’ for writing fiction. Yes, I knew I loved writing, but I had been told that my only attempt at fiction was rubbish, and I believed that.

Then Fred and George came into my life.

I was looking for a pet, since I had changed job and location, and felt I wouldn’t be travelling much, so I could give a good home to an animal. Whether I was a suitable person to take responsibility for an animal troubled me a little. What if after a couple of years I felt it wasn’t working? What if my infamous…