I HEARD myself saying “I have got my brain back”, when asked what it felt like to have finished my memoirs.

I had been daunted by the prospect of writing 180,000 words in five months, as well as doing my day job as Blackburn’s MP.

But I had not appreciated how the project would simply take over my mind.

I don’t think that constituents or fellow MPs noticed – I hope not. But I did.

I went to sleep thinking about the next chapter, woke up thinking about the ruddy thing and it was there all day – like an infection.

I also found that I could only write properly in my study in either our Blackburn or London homes locked away for hours.

I was no company at all. A friend of ours married to an author, warned my wife: “It’s bad enough writing a book, but it is much worse being married to someone who is.”

Thankfully I got through it and this baby has now been produced. But I had also had no anticipation of how much goes into marketing a book once it is out.

Some say that printed books have no future (like printed newspapers have no future) but news of their death seems premature, to say the least. In the last decade literary festivals, book clubs and events organised by independent book sellers have exploded in number.

So I have been on the circuit in the last week and done events in Manchester, Ilkley, Cheltenham, South London and Brighton, with many more to come.

It’s a bit like being on the election campaign trail but nicer – and I have got my brain back.