To continue on the literary theme this evening my writers’ group had its summer dinner in a restaurant off the Place St Job in a part of Uccle that felt like a village. A good time was had by all, with a lot of lively discussion which, because of the geographical spread of the group (Irish, American, Scottish, Swedish, English), was satisfyingly broad and eclectic in scope. I always come away from these occasions having learnt a lot. Towards the end of the evening we decided that we should each say why we wrote, limiting ourselves to a single sentence. Here are the responses I managed to note down: ‘I want to be heard’; ‘It’s a way of legitimising my existence’; It’s the only thing I have always wanted to do’; ‘You can create the world that’s in your head’; ‘To save my life I wrote things down’.