It’s about time – both the songs and the fact that I’ve only just gotten around to making this, my first solo album at the not so tender age of 58.

Maybe I’m a late developer, or maybe I’ve just been a bit backward about coming forward. Either way, it’s about bleedin’ time. I’ve been writing songs all my life, but they’ve invariably been for other people to sing. It never occurred to me that I could sing them myself. With my “lineage’, I perhaps didn’t feel capable; not so much ‘not worthy’ as a fear of failure.

Over the past few years, I’ve had a protracted walk with The Black Dog. In coming home and locking him in his proverbial kennel, I’ve had to change my definition of failure: for me, failure is simply the passive act of ‘not doing’, and time’s way too short for that.

As part of the Blue Peter generation, I too made models of Tracy Island out of string and cereal boxes. They were crap but that didn’t matter. They were good enough, because you made them, and the joy was in the making. We all grew up and went rat racing before growing down again and finally realising that everyone has imposter syndrome. Perfection doesn’t matter. It isn’t the point.

With thanks to the Arts Council England for their support.