I love my washing machine. It makes comfortable noises, and when I’m working the white noise makes me feel less lonely. It’s not distracting like television, it doesn’t colour my mood like music, and I enjoy the sense of accomplishment. You see, while the wonderful noise is happening, it is also washing my clothes, so when the cycle comes to an end I can stand next to a wet basket of laundry and say, ‘Ah!’ Then, when I’m hanging the laundry out, it is a lovely form of procrastination. I put the next load on, and as the noise kicks in I go back to work.

Sometimes I run out of dirty clothes so I wash clean ones. I get them out of the cupboard. Is it crazy? What, I ask you, could possibly be crazier than the business of working alone?

This is to explain why, when you opened the door to interview this great philosopher, you were greeted by an old, scary figure in underpants. I have run out of laundry. But I am ready to talk about it. Ha ha.

People ask me, how are you so prolific? Where do you get your ideas from? I have always given out clever answers to this before, to make it look as though I am an author.

But it is my washing machine which is to be awarded and acclaimed, for the great works it has encouraged into the world.