Today, like many other Londoners, I gravitated towards Trafalgar Square, drawn by the annual magic of the Norway Spruce, a tree sent with love and gratitude from the people of Oslo to the people of London, every year. I first saw the the tree as a tot, with my Mother and Father. The consistency and persistence of this gift, sent every year since 1947, has a charm and magic I can't explain. It's the kind of persistency we need as writers. It says, 'We don't mind whether you're in fashion, or whether the world hates you. We don't mind that you're young, and beautiful, or that you grew old and your face is wrinkled, your hair hair silver. We just remember you because you're you. And if we're writers, we write it down.' Love You, Norway.