For once I’m writing as I travel. More of Britain’s great rural landscapes flit past as I strike my fading ibook keyboard (I’ve actually repainted the letters, but even that version has now had its day - Apple take note of a serious design fault). So here I am in a packed train en route from Edinburgh to London with wifi access for £3 for 30 minutes. Now that’s a lot for something which is ultimately free to operate and, the cleverclogs, they make sure you can’t break it down into downloading segments. But it’s not quite as bad as the hotel I’ve just left. Edinburgh’s Sheraton charges the outrageous amount of £10 per day. It’s obvious that this is to make up for lost revenue snatched away by mobile phones. Those inflated phone-calls used to pad out hotel-bills brilliantly. With those gone, wifi steps in. Maybe one day they’ll twig that hotel guests prefer free wifi to free hair-conditioner.

For a change I’ve just headed north, a rare cardinal point for me despite my Scottish ancestry. So instead of golden sunlight and cossetting temperatures, I’ve been revelling in mists hovering over the Highlands which suddenly break apart to reveal absolutely stunning landscapes and limpid blue skies. Not cornflower, cobalt or French blue here; the blue is the colour of Scottish eyes - kind and ever discreet.

Sometimes when working on location you just have to go with the flow. You are no longer in control as you are back at base, so occasionally it’s a case of take a deep breath… Back inside the pages of Medina Kitchen, there is one photo of a sumptuous looking pistachio cake with a huge slice out of it and a trail of crumbs. When I see it I smile - but that’s now, about a year on. The cake actually looks fine in this half-demolished state and in fact bathes in a luminous golden glow on its brass platter.

I just had another baby. Fresh from China, it is neither human or android, it’s an advance copy of Medina Kitchen. At the same time, nice words came in an email from my editor: “The book feels like pure sunshine.” I won’t quote any more - it was too nice, but let’s say I’m puffing up fast.

Bizet, Cuba, Chicago, Oscar Hammerstein, London’s Festival Hall… a few worlds met last night at the first night of Carmen Jones. This new production of the hybrid musical came courtesy of Liverpudlian director Jude Kelly, artistic big chief at the revamped Royal Festival Hall.