In his book A Week at the Airport Alain De Botton confirmed something writers have always known: we don’t need the perfect study with the perfect view to do good work.

It makes sense. How many times have you written a surprisingly good scene, despite lying in bed with a hangover? Or completed that painful chapter in a noisy cafe with screaming babies all around? Alternatively, ever sat down, having had ten hours sleep – with a clear head and chore-free day on the horizon – only to be freaked out by it all?

When it’s going well, run with it. The story won’t care where it’s written.

Brilliant. Among Roddy Doyle’s ten rules for writers :

Do not place a photograph of your ­favourite author on your desk, especially if the author is one of the famous ones who committed suicide.

Do be kind to yourself. Fill pages as quickly as possible; double space, or write on every second line. Regard every new page as a small triumph

Do give the work a name as quickly as possible. Own it, and see it. Dickens knew Bleak House was going to be called Bleak House before he started writing it. The rest must have been easy.

Do change your mind. Good ideas are often murdered by better ones. I was working on a novel about a band called the Partitions. Then I decided to call them the Commitments.

Do not search amazon.co.uk for the book you haven’t written yet.