To have a first novel published when you are over seventy is, I suppose, a fairly unusual thing to do. Why wait till then? The question keeps cropping up, so I have to make a serious attempt to discover the reasons. Perhaps I am a bit thick. Or is it the lack of education? (She had a governess, you know.) Perhaps I didn’t have the time. Perhaps I didn’t have the confidence. Obviously a late developer. All these reasons? Or none of them? Being brought up in a practically prehistoric era must profoundly affect attitudes in later life. So it was the upbringing. Wasn’t it? Why do I make statements and then immediately question them? Is it because I was born a Libran that I seem to remain in a constant state of indecision whenever I start to ask questions of myself?