Caring for a baby, even my own perfect darling, is boring. But it lit a creative fire in my belly.

I’m writing this at half past midnight, long past my bedtime, as I wait for the inevitable cry from the baby’s room for his first wake of the night.  I thought my creativity would wane when I had my first child, the effect of the pram in the hallway as Cyril Connolly famously wrote. But instead, thrillingly and unexpectedly, it has ignited a fire in my belly that remains unquenched over a year after baby’s...