‘Any time we go on holiday, I miss that routine of going to the desk and working every day. I must be a terrible person to be on holidays with,” says John Patrick McHugh. “I remember we went to Cork for a long weekend, and I was like, ‘Ciara, can I just do three hours?’ I went under the stairs to work on a story.” The idea of a weekend away anywhere seems fanciful these days, which is why the author’s gleeful confession is distressing to hear. While Ciara has our sympathies, McHugh, in fairness to him, does explain that once you’re in the writing flow, you have to grab it because it might not be there the next day.