Three years ago I started writing a biography of David Blunkett. It was published on Tuesday.

Those two sentences, both literally true, conceal the whirlwind which has engulfed me in the past fortnight. The plan had been to publish in January. I knew I had some good stories and expected a fair amount of publicity. I cleared my schedule for the entire month and congratulated myself on my sensible planning. The new kitchen which I had promised myself was slotted in for December, and I offered a December deadline to the think tank which was publishing a booklet on Britain and the EU, which I had agreed to write.

The Blunkett book was ready to go, a few legal hiccups apart. Prepare for a relaxing Christmas, I said to myself, before the mad January rush.

And then the chaos arrived. Three Sundays ago, the Sunday Telegraph published a series of allegations about David Blunkett’s propriety. What had been a private story--his relationship with Kimberly Fortier--which was trickling along without much impact, was suddenly a major political storm. I was in despair. By January, the Home Secretary might well be no more and we could be sitting on a turkey. David who?

We had to go for broke and bring publication forward by a month.

The Daily Mail, which was due to run extracts in January, leapt at the chance to go early, and so I closeted myself away and bashed out an extra chapter bringing the book up to date. My deadline was 2nd December, and the book hit the shops on 14th, a pretty astonishing performance by my publishers, Hodder.

My life went into suspended animation as I waited for the serial to begin on 4th--a suspension which ended and which hasn’t stopped since. My deal with the Mail meant I couldn’t respond to the wall to wall coverage which my revelations about the true story of David Blunkett’s relationship generated, nor to the following Monday Mail's splash detailing his comments about his Cabinet colleagues, nor to the blanket coverage which they prompted.

It’s the nearest I have had to an out of body experience, watching myself and my book being discussed every time I turn on the news or look at the papers. Most surreal of all was watching Prime Minister’s Questions on the Wednesday, and hearing the contents my book coming from Michael Howard’s mouth.

And it hasn’t stopped since. Barely ten minutes goes by without a call from TV or radio. Even on a quiet day, such as Sunday, I did 4 interviews. And when there’s nothing more to say, I’m offered free gifts by the likes of John Prescott, who gave a dead story legs by going on the Today programme on Monday and accusing me of being greedy and politically motivated for selling my book. Thanks, John. That’s another 1000 sold.

As for pre-planning: my home is a building site. My new kitchen, so cleverly arranged for this week, is taking shape, but in between interviews I am reduced to prowling the streets for sanctuary, away from the dust and the banging.

So I’ve learned at least one lesson. The next time I have a book out, I won’t plan a thing. Go with the flow.

(The Bookseller site is here.)