And so she emerges, blinking, into the daylight. Is it a coalface worker? Is it a nocturnal woodland animal? No, it’s Laurie Graham, newly-delivered novelist! She shuffles across to her desk. She peers into her Outbox. Nope, nothing there. It’s gone, despatched, flushed down the great Internet U-bend. Furthermore, it has reached its various destinations.

At this point I would like to pay tribute to Gary Johnson of the Elaine Markson Agency in New York who began reading my manuscript while the printer was still churning it out and emailed me immediately to tell me I had him hooked by page 2. That’s the kind of appreciation really makes a writer’s day.

It would be a slight exaggeration to say I’m now unemployed: there’s just the small business of finding a new house, directing the pantomime and packing up our goods and chattels for the move to Ireland, but in terms of writing I do now have some down time.

The question is, will I use it wisely? Will I be able to play Hark the Herald Angels Sing note perfect by Christmas Eve, turn my home-grown lemons into lemon curd and dust off my Russian for Really Slow Learners text book? Or will I go into a post-partum schlump and waste a whole morning poking the fluff out of my computer keyboard? Time will tell.

But first, to Ireland, to find a new home. Eight houses to view in three days. Watch this space.