There is something very special about this place. Time, here, feels inconsequential – I am rarely aware of what day it is, whilst the clock I work to becomes biological, creative; rather than dictated by the whims of a boss or client. Though still I fight the ingrained notion that I must start work early in the morning, and finish late afternoon, I am slowly finding that this is just not how my brain works best.

Instead, I seem to get the majority of my best writing done later in the evening: locked away in my tower until 8 or 9pm. This, then, is partly the magic of Marchmont and a funded writer’s residency – I am granted the space to hone my creative process, outwith the constraints of normal life. But there is more to it than that.