Ah, that was a bit of a surprise, really. I didn’t know I could write creatively until I was asked to produce an article for a local magazine. The sort of school I went to expected essays on set subjects - flights of fancy were not encouraged!

Well, they asked me to produce something similar for the next edition of the magazine too, so I suppose so. Of course it could have been that the editor was just desperate. Either way, my column became a regular feature.

Are you kidding? Until then I hadn’t written anything much longer than a shopping list - well, apart from work stuff. I found it a real buzz that people actually got enjoyment out of something I’d created. (The only other things I’d produced were three children and, although I loved them dearly, I can’t think they gave much pleasure to the wider world - not the way they behaved as toddlers.)

It was after my third child had started going to nursery that I found I had too much time on my hands and decided to write a novel. It was only when I was about half-way through I realised I didn’t know how. So I took myself off on a creative writing course where I was told a) how to do it and b) that if I kept at it I’d probably get published.

Yup, and I can tell you that writing certainly beats working for a living.

When I’m not writing - quite a lot of the time but don’t tell my editor - I love playing stupid computer games, sudoku, watching weepy films and reading.

I love the seaside, sunshine, flying, scuba diving, cats, the first cup of tea in the morning, red wine, cooking, the Archers and my family. I can’t be doing with being ill, boring admin, bills, feeling cold, shopping for food (actually, shopping for almost anything except presents for other people), things that don’t work the way they’re supposed to, rain and the way I look.

They’re paying me.

Oh, guess!