At the moment that’s Boardwalk Empire, which is brilliant – although it kills off all its interesting female characters. Sunday evening? Me, my wife Elaine and the dogs watch TV. When I told my parents, my father forced them to return all the money I’d lost. Afterwards, I’d go – underage – to a casino and play the slot machines. Through my teens I was forced to work at my father’s Cardiff warehouse. Sundays growing up? The best you could hope for was something being sold for more money than you anticipated on Antiques Roadshow. Have you seen a racoon lift itself out of a dustbin? The first thing you see are its weird, humanlike hands. I see exotic animals: chipmunks and groundhogs. There’s a 12-mile walk along country lanes beyond our Upstate New York village, passing forlorn farms, views of the Catskills, and increasing gentrification. Sunday lunch is no different – lots of wheat and barley. What’s for lunch? Unfortunately I have diverticulitis all I can eat is fruit, vegetables and grains. Nothing gives me more satisfaction than making a piece of writing work. If not, I might finesse a single sentence. If I’ve got the mental capacity to write, I will. I figure working four or five hours every day is the same as Monday to Friday, 9-5. What’s next? I’ll empty the dishwasher, make myself a coffee, then I’ll work. I’m no ornithologist this is all based on what I’ve observed from my window. It’s wholly wrong that they are known as birds of peace. They get bullied by the blue jays – thuggish, corrupt-cop-looking creatures.