NSFW: Hey, 1997 – Macmillan called, they want the Net Book Agreement back

This time last week I rattled off the world's laziest column. I was struggling against my book deadline which expired 24 hours later and I simply didn't have time to write anything else. This week should have been different; I should have finished the book days ago and now be sitting on a beach in the Caribbean, sipping a Diet Coke martini and lazily writing a long, well-thought-out column about some vital issue of the day. Why it's inadvisable to write a mea culpa in the passive voice (otherwise it's just a 'culpa'). Something like that. And yet, and yet - the fact that, seven days later, I'm still sitting at my desk and I still haven't delivered the manuscript to my publisher, should give a hint to how perilous things are right now. I'm Wile E. Coyote about five seconds after he looks down and realises he's overshot the cliff. And yet despite my urge to sack off this week's column and focus on lessening the size of crater I'm about to leave in the desert floor, there's something on which I can't remain silent on any longer. Four words which I've been seeing again and again all week, and which threaten to drive me mad...