It's the last morning of a writing retreat at the incomparable Gladstone's Library, and a tribute to this place seems like an apt way to begin this blog. From a desk in this peaceful book-lined space, with a sonic backdrop of keyboard clicking, page turning and birdsong, London life seems like a chaotic other world. I can't wait to cuddle my children again, but it's always hard to leave this writers' paradise. Especially when a barrage of nappies, laundry and splattered puree awaits. But I've been pretty productive here. I've got the final(?) edits of my novel in, and worked on the programme for the next Ark short story show, as well as a new short story of my own, and the writing time has been perfectly punctuated by lunchtime walks among the bluebell woods and evening Scrabble with some fellow word fiends. William Gladstone, and all who make this wonderful place what it is now: thank you.