This weekend, I have mostly been playing in the sunshine – as I’m sure you have too if you’ve got any sense. Was this conducive to writing book seven? Of course not. But our flat is one of those Edinburgh specials; ice-on-the-inside-of-the-window-cold during winter and bone-meltingly-sauna-like as soon as there’s a hint of sunshine, so I doubt I’d have done any more if I’d remained indoors. Sweat in places I didn’t know I had, perhaps.