It all reminded me of the letters I used to receive with my rejected novels before I got published, which always said they’d enjoyed reading my work but it was ‘not quite for them’.

Still, one evening found me addressing my local writing group, which may not sound very exciting (or lucrative) but they all bought my books in hardback, and it doesn’t do to neglect your roots, does it? (Which reminded me that mine were showing, and I must buy a bottle of Naturally Mine hair colour in Dark Rich Nigella on my way to Waitrose later.)

During the question and answer bit at the end of my talk the chairwoman, who looked like a testosterone-laden Oxo cube on legs, stood up and said pretty belligerently: ‘It’s all right for you, writing salacious froth about nothing much! But what about the market for religious poetry, that’s what I’d like to know? Publishers won’t touch it, even though it’s straight from the heart and I’ve had countless personal tributes from people who have been privileged to hear me read it.’

So I said there was a bit of a limited market for religious poetry, except possibly in America, where the market was naturally bigger for everything because there were lots more people over there, but I didn’t personally know much about the USA book scene.

‘Have you even been there?’ she demanded.

‘Only once, a few years ago.’

‘Then I am surprised you didn’t explore all the publishing opportunities while you were there.’

I said I’d been more interested in exploring the shopping opportunities at the time, and then she said I was a light woman.

Someone from the back called out: ‘Oh, shut up, Enid, we love her books!’ and several voices said, ‘Hear, hear!’

Enid swung round, eyes narrowed. ‘Who said that?’

Things might have got nasty if a pocket-sized ex-colonel type hadn’t got up and given me a hasty vote of thanks and declared it tea and sticky buns time.

Libby Garnett phoned to say that since I seemed to be getting some publicity for Spring Breezes (no thanks to her, I might have said, but restrained myself), would I like to do a little book-signing tour of London?

‘Do you mean signing stock, like I did with my first Salubrious novel, Bad Seed?’ I asked, and she said yes, because there wasn’t much call for sit-down author signings these days except by bestselling novelists.

She didn’t know about Necromancer’s Nook, where I always sat down very comfortably at a table with a glass of blood-red wine at my elbow and lots of people came, even if they were my friends.