Writing is not something I’d recommend as a career path. It’s a lifestyle choice as much as anything. The highs are fantastic; the buzz of writing a script, the bigger one of selling it, and seeing it realised. There’s not a lot that can match that kind of thrill. Even when things don’t go quite as they might have, it’s easy enough – because it’s true – that next time can be better. Sometimes, that’s the way it works out.

There’s a kind of attrition that happens along the way. Commit to creativity, and pretty much nothing in life is fixed. Things that others take for granted, it’s not always easy to if you’re hoping to support yourself through the products of your imagination. It’s arguable that my two brief spells in mental hospitals have a lot to do with the stresses of trying to support myself through writing. Equally, it’s feasible that the same psychological issues fuel my creativity, which is pretty much the argument about being bipolar, a label I don’t identify with – if only because the meds I take daily keep signs of it in check.