Like having a baby, there is never a good time to write a novel. There’s never a time when you think, oh yes, right now is absolutely the right time to withdraw from the world, stay in your dressing gown for an indefinite period, allow the brown envelopes to reach elbow height on the hall floor. The alternative is to wait until the kids are grown and the mortgage paid off, but given the current economic climate – in this household at least – the kids may never leave home, and it would be cheaper to die than pay off the mortgage.