In the afternoon it will quieten, will almost have the place to myself, imagination given full rein to gallop, to roly poly like a hard boiled egg. I find I write more productively in the background hum of conversation and music; today, it's Stevie Wonder, Superstition is playing, I L.O.V.E Superstition, my shoulders shake and sway to the rhythm. I must look a little odd. And I zone out, in a good space, focusing on the job. At my favourite table by the window - views of pitted tarmac and semi detached homes - I have somehow managed to climb a few literary peaks over the last year; prose that has elasticity (I hope), solid word counts on the beleaguered story (nearly there now).