Crumbs. Golly. And all like that.
A day or two ago I wrote about Michael Dibdin's review of Jonathan Freedland's novel (written as Sam Bourne), The Righteous Men. And I had clean forgotten that, back in 2004, I expressed a few views on the contract to write same, which was awarded by HarperCollins with the traditional six figures attached.
It wasn't until I read the Literary Saloon's outrage at the Guardian's behaviour in this little kerfuffle, and found myself being congratulated on my prescience, that I even knew that I'd mentioned Jonathan Freedland and his book before. And it seems that I had quite a lot to say on the subject, too.
Crumbs, as I say. Perhaps you can get pills for this kind of thing?