Every morning, or at least every writing morning, I perform the same small dance. This week on the water I open my laptop. I re-read what I wrote yesterday. And sometimes I think: not bad. Maybe even quite good. And then, almost immediately, another thought follows – a quieter, more treacherous one: but can I do it again? That’s when the dance begins. I decide I need another coffee. I check the weather. I wonder if perhaps this would be the perfect moment to reorganise my desk, or re-pot the...