Writing a novel is like being devoured by some enveloping disease. It requires you to forget that you have family, a job and a life. It would like you to starve, live in squalor and forget to pick the kids up from school.

I’ve had a few months away from the novel, waiting for an editor to give me her critique. And now I’m back to it, re-invigorated and ready to dive in. My whole life has now been taken over by plot, paring back and sorting out some of my characters.

And, of course, the daily fight is on; how much time can I give it? How much else can I ignore?

It’s a matter of negotiating with myself, using a bit of diplomacy with the husband, bargaining with the children and usually forgetting to feed the dog.

And then there’s this blog. There’s so much I’d like to tell you: my latest, must have book for every food nerd, the incredible brunch we had over the holidays and how much the walking of that under-fed dog helps me with my writing.

So I haven’t forgotten you. Writing this is a tonic, more straightforward, less agonising than writing a novel. I won’t be abandoning you. Here is when I come when I’m in need of refreshment, when I need to clear my head of difficulties and address something delicious…