This week, although enjoyable in many respects – Work! People! Commuting; ah, well, perhaps not that last one – has been a horror show for the writing, with barely a word written in anger.

I’d got my writing ‘space’ into a fairly solid, if plodding, routine, but a disruption to that routine, and one that’ll continue over the next for weeks and then hopefully settle down into something more regular, has thrown up a number of questions about what I do, and the way I do it.

So what have I learned? I’ve learned that a rigid routine has made me a little complacent in many ways and that I’m not working hard enough at what I do.

I’ve learned, furthermore, that if I’m to make a go of this – of writing scripts, of being a writer – that I can’t live in a bubble all the time. I’m going to have to be more flexible. I’m going to have to throw off that guy habit of thinking about one thing at a time.

But I’ve also learned that I’m a lucky man, and that I can have my cake and eat it. I can close off a small portion of my week to do something I’m good at doing, and for which someone is willing to pay me.

It’s already given me an interesting insight to how I work, and how I can improve the use of my time. Instead of presuming I’ll be writing same-time same-place the following day, I should make the most of the writing period I’ve got.

And it’s taught me that Pret sandwiches and zero visits to the gym are a bad combination.