When I was 2, we moved into an imposing country mansion 8 miles west of Cardiff, Wales.
When I walked to school in the mornings I would start out alone but would pick up four other boys along the way. We would set out together after school across the village green.
Unless you have been to boarding-school when you are very young, it is absolutely impossible to appreciate the delights of living at home.
Two hours of writing fiction leaves this writer completely drained. For those two hours he has been in a different place with totally different people.
The writer has to force himself to work. He has to make his own hours and if he doesn't go to his desk at all there is nobody to scold him.
The Bristol Channel was always my guide, and I was always able to draw an imaginary line from my bed to our house over in Wales. It was a great comfort.
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