I’ll spare you the explanations, and simply say I’ve been away. I needed a spell away from the Internet, away from any public space, a space to hide like an ailing cat. To put it another way, in a gracious retreat from challenging circumstances, I could claim to have cancelled myself. Or I could blame the menopause, which hit me like a freight train. But that was not the half of it, because a novel idea presented itself, an epic of urban fantasy to be precise, and I gave myself permission to try. In which case, may I gently push back, and point out that YLF is where I realised I had something to say, and that I could write about more than just fashion.

Even so, this is not a move I recommend to anyone who values their sanity. This is the kind of writing one does under duress. There comes a point in the process when stories and characters emerge as ends in themselves, when not writing them becomes unthinkable. And if I do say so myself, it all seems to be inching towards something well worth reading at last. If it was no good, I’d have quit already, but by now I need to know how it ends, assuming it ends at all.

Am I off my rocker? Maybe the rocker only needs changing. Maybe all I need is a pit stop. Never mind the men in the white coats, call in the lads in the greasy overalls with the torque wrenches. A new set of rockers and she’ll be right as rain.