dorling kindersley books

The London International Book Fair remains, after a decade or so, somehow a resolutely unglamorous affair, but we throw a party on the DK stand for key accounts, PR contacts and potential co-publishers. Richard and I collect Bill, and are ushered in through the Press entrance, notably unnoticed. At the party, Bill is great; forty years of dealing with fans means that he can field the inevitable "What's your favourite Stones song?"-style questions pretty effortlessly, and he does so with charm. He likes telling stories, drawing people in, which is pretty much what the book is about. He signs some long-treasured album sleeves. He transforms the DK stand into a smoke-mandatory zone. The party is fun and when we go on to Bluebird in the King's Road for an invitation-only dinner, he just gets better. Our only worry is, do the stories he tells match the ones in The Book?

But it's a long way between now and launch date in October; that, and the hospitality, should blur people's memories.