I am always amazed at the way writing about imaginary lives can, on certain weeks, seem more real to a writer than the life they are living.  Occasionally the people and the places in my book take over. This week, after a marathon writing stint I have emerged blinking, surprised that I am after all in the UK.  I have spent all week, in my head at least, in north Pakistan remembering the way the light catches the mountains and following an eye catching, beautifully decorated truck weaving its way down steep mountain roads. Sight, sound, smell are  vividly evoked as my fingers press the keys…