Unlike most of the Western world I’ve been back at work since December 28th, setting the bar a bit higher every day. Go on, woman, get on with it. Another 500 words before you put the kettle on. The end isn’t yet quite in sight but I know I can get there. In London Marathon terms I’m closer to Big Ben than I am to the Tower.

Tomorrow will be one of those significant moments in my working year when I print and bind what I’ve written so far and force myself to sit down and read it. With a big pink highlighter pen in my hand. By Wednesday I should have a clearer idea of what remains to be done. ‘Could do with a bit more sex,’ I hear my editor murmur. Oh God…. I know sex sells, but how many writers do it well? Write about it, I mean.

Which reminds me. Orgies. Anyone ever been to one? I ask because I’ve been watching, courtesy of a friend who thought I needed perking up with scenes of mindless violence and reckless quaffing, series 1 of Game of Thrones. What larks! I’ve especially enjoyed the perfect teeth. They’ve clearly all been using some Dark Ages equivalent of Pepsodent. But anyway, orgies… there was one in Episode 6, just before Drogo the Grunter had Viserys the Sulky Pants executed. I gathered it was an orgy because there was drumming and girls were running around sans thermal vests (even though they kept telling us winter was coming) and tossing their heads. Head-tossing signals animal abandon, I suppose. I don’t know. Nobody ever invited me to an orgy. But I’ve seen plenty in the movies and I think there was an important element missing from Drogo’s orgy: bunches of grapes. I’m pretty certain that one is supposed to cram grapes into one’s mouth and allow the juice to trickle suggestively down one’s thermal vest. I may drop a line to the script writers.

Is it possible the strain of delivering this novel on time is getting to me?