The phrase learning curve seems to have gone out of fashion, perhaps because it can often be a huge climb — sometimes in gradated steps but also often with craggy, irregular inclines and the possibility of metaphorically broken legs. It’s, therefore, a huge relief to know our debut offering as a publisher is being printed this week. It’s been quite a while coming but we’ve turned it around in little more than two years, from conception to the anticipated volume. The industry standard is two years, with their slick machinery, their in house professionals and years of collective experience. Mostly, they’re not corralling up to fifty authors, either, who can remain vague on the value of deadlines and who, for various personal reasons, might withdraw their work at the last minute. So, we are entitled to feel okay on the time we’ve taken and we look forward to a celebration event, next month, where copies of pre-ordered books will be handed to those who can attend.

I’m reminded of a story my father used to tell about one of the men from the village he grew up in. Albert took a cart ride up to London fancying a look at the giant cucumbers he’d heard tell were growing at Kew Gardens. He thought it would be worth the sixty-five mile walk home, and might be the only opportunity he’d get to see such things. Having witnessed the wonders, it having taken most of the day to get there, Albert slept out under the stars — before beginning towards home. When morning came, though, he’d lost his bearings and although there were a few signposts he couldn’t read them.

He was bright enough to know that if he walked in the wrong direction, he’d be further from where he could kick his boots off, further from a jar of his local ale. He fathomed, if he could find London Bridge he could get back, along the Thames’ wandering banks, to Oxford and from there it was only a twenty mile stroll to his door. Not daunted by such a thought he approached the next chap happening by.

‘Could thee kindly tell I where London Bridge might be?’ he asked.

‘Why, it’s in London,’ the man replied.

‘Yes, but so be we,’ said Albert, ‘and I just need to be put on the right road to get I ‘owm.’

Whereupon, the man looked Albert in the eye and said, ‘Well if I were going there, I wouldn’t start from here,’ and promptly went about his way.

Of course, Albert arrived back in his village, somehow, and went on to tell the tale — and another about the cucumbers. He survived his adventure although it, like the Thames, had its twists and turns and, all in all, he had a circuitous route. But, above all, he learned from it. Just as we’ve learned much from this project and, in all truthfulness, if we’d known what we know now, like Albert’s adviser, we wouldn’t have begun where we began. But we’re still glad we began and we’re glad to note, as of today, the book is now in production. The presses are currently whirring and delivery will soon head our way.

Will we do it again? Probably! And, especially, because we won’t be starting from the same place; we’re already part way up the mountain, if not a little around the bend.