I sometimes forget I wrote Going Loco, but as its creator I must acknowledge its existence. It had started out as a radio play, in which a writer (obviously me) is so busy writing a book about the history of literary “doubles” that when someone offers to live her life on her behalf, she not only agrees, she moves into the loft to make way.

I still think it’s a good idea. But maybe the sub-plots involving other sort of doubles, including grand guignol cloning, got out of hand. It also didn’t help that I built the book on Abba lyrics, not appreciating that the publishers would, naturally, insist on stripping them out for copyright reasons. But the main problem was that I wrote it too quickly, some of it in Dublin – a city chosen at random. Or so I thought. Afterwards, browsing the shelf of titles I’d consulted – doubling, doubling, doubling, Dublin – I realised how literal-minded I had been.