If I didn’t write while I’m distracted by things going on — you know, the normal detritus of living, like remembering to pay bills, dealing with issues arising from family illness — I’d never write at all. I suspect this applies to most people.

Is the answer to go on a writing residential, once they’re running again? I have to say I have my doubts. I read an article once by someone who rented a cottage for six months so that he could do some uninterrupted writing, and ended up leaving it all to the last week!

For some years my wife encouraged me to take a week’s break, to stay in a self-catering cottage or apartment somewhere nice. Every single time I took with a pile of books, and a pile of writing projects. The former came back with their bookmarks in the same place. The latter remained unopened.

The problem was that when the weather was lovely, I preferred to go out for a walk, after which I’d repair to a nice cafe and read an unfamiliar magazine I’d treated myself to. When the weather was horrible, I’d reverse the order of activities, and start off in the cafe and then walk once the weather allowed. And if it didn’t allow a walk without being drenched (a bit wet was fine, but being soaked is no joke), I’d race back to my temporary abode with a packet of biscuits I’d guiltily purchased, and then scoff the lot while watching some rubbish on TV.

On the other hand, I can see the attraction of a writing retreat, especially if seeing other people beavering away makes you feel guilty. A fellow student on a creative writing course a few years ago booked herself onto one such thing, and came back a week later having almost finished her novel. Perhaps spending a small fortune acts an incentive.

For a number of years now I’ve seriously toyed with the idea of telling everyone — friends and family — that I’m going away for two weeks — and then remaining at home. To borrow from a Joe Cocker song called ‘Dangerous Mood’ I’d park the car somewhere other than outside my home, and unplug the telephone, so it would look like there is nobody at home. (I love the illogicality of that line: how can unplugging the phone give the appearance of nobody being at home?)