I’ve always loved working at night.
In my school days, I’d typically have after school sports practice of some sort. If it was a Tuesday or a Thursday, I’d have Bath rugby training which finished even later; my family would keep The O.C. on pause for me and we’d watch it together with no ads when I got back from training just after 9pm.
The evenings were when I got my most productive time work done. Lessons were not productive time, moving as you did at the slowest person’s rate.
At home I’d work in the study, where the skylights made the air cold and you could see the stars above you if you deigned to look up from the glow of the monitor. Everyone would go to bed, leaving me wrapped in the night, beavering away over my homework.
At university I did the same, occasionally pulling all nighters to get my work done. This is not a good idea.
To write the bulk of my book I’d sit wrapped in a blanket beneath the skylight in my friend’s house, or outside in the summer house where I could go undisturbed and type away.
Come to think of it, I do my best work under skylights.