When I’m in the midst of writing, it’s almost impossible to read fiction. Either my mind drifts away to my own story (at which point I return to the laptop) or my eyes snag on every sentence, in praise or criticism, deconstructing its pros and cons until coming to the conclusion I have absolutely no idea about anything. If the novel is especially good, I’m demoralised. Why bother? I think. I’ll never write anything as worthy. So it’s best to avoid fiction when writing it.

Fortunately/unfortunately, I haven’t written for the past few months. With the absence of deadlines, my ‘free time’ has been unexpectedly, delightfully, free. I’ve had whole weekends to play with (what do people do with weekends?) so I’ve taken advantage of a temporary licence to read.