Happiness, let me say first of all, is having a friend who has a dream that she made a fairy cake with a castle on the top, who then makes you one for your birthday.

Happiness is a blood orange and a cup of tea and a handful of Cadburys chocolate buttons. It is going on a long walk and picking up interesting leaves. It is drying slices of orange on all the radiators in the house. It is eating breakfast cereal out of a mug on the front doorstep. It is experimental cookery. It is watching Law and Order and pre-empting the Chung Chungs. It is watching Made For TV Christmas movies, especially ones starring Steve Guttenberg as Santa.

Happiness is writing a story that you want to read again. It is writing for half an hour and hardly pressing the backspace key. It is pretending to be Angela Lansbury. It is singing 'All For Love' with your sister when you are Sting and she's Bryan and you alternate being Rod. It is demonstrating the Paso Doble to 'The Price of Love' while doing the washing up. It is Dick van Dyke in virtually everything he's ever done. It is being given a copy of Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson's autobiography for Christmas. It is debating the relative merits of Jane Austen adaptations and rediscovering the joy that is Colin Firth as Mr Darcy. It is visiting Pemberley and maintaining an outward appearance of coolness whilst secretly taking pictures on your phone.

Happiness is hiding the CD your sister uses to make you get out of bed in the morning. It is babies with flippy feet. It is movies set in The White House or the world of competitive figure skating. It is second hand bookshops. It is making CDs for friends and always including 'Tomorrow' from Annie. It is getting lovely reviews for a story you've had fun writing. It is a cheese, pickle, apple and salad sandwich. It is sitting in the sunshine with nothing to do but read.