I was thinking about the next book as I wandered through Abney cemetery with the dogs this morning. Abney is a great place to find names, though I tend to forget them by the time I get home. (Note to self: pen and paper.) It's hard not to consider the large community of dead people when you walk through Abney cemetery -- there are whole stories based on the date a child died, or two children, in one case six under the age of eighteen -- and then a spouse, a second spouse, or parents. It's not a lot of information but sometimes tells nearly all you need to know about a life.

Superstitiously, I imagine that conjuring up a long gone existence based on a name, some dates, perhaps an epitaph--occasionally even an address and a few relatives--pays homage to the ghost.

But it doesn't matter whether it does or it doesn't. Thinking about things is what matters.

In the meantime, all this thinking about names made me consider how many names I've used up in the course of writing six books.

1. Edmond

2. Daisy

3. Piper

4. Isaac

5. Osbert

6. Penn

7. Joe

8. Elena

9. Davina

10. Leonora

11. Justin

12. Agnes

13. Peter

14. Anna

15. Dorothea

16. Charlie

17. Hilary

18. Finn

19. Reese

20. Pell

21. Bean

22. Esther

23. Birdie

24. Dogman

25. Lou

26. Jack

27. Dicken

28. Frannie

29. Ellen

30. Sally

31. Harris

32. John Kirby

33. Esme

34. Bob

35. Mona

36. Estelle

37. Eck

38. Mr B

39. Emoto Hed

40. Lucy

41. Luke

42. Bernard

43. Laura

And in the new book, there's:

1. Mila

2. Gil

3. Marieka

4. Matthew

5. Suzanne

6. Gabriel

7. Honey

8. Catlin

9. Jake

10. Lydia

Fifty-three names (give or take) in all.

It looks as if ten is pretty much the average number of characters I can manage, with five at a bare minimum.

Now, class. What does this tell us about the optimum number of characters in a novel?

You, in the back, shouting 'bugger all.'

Are correct.