Franz Kafka: a Dead Man Writing

I'm sitting in my shed at the bottom of our garden with the doors and windows open, revelling in what passes for peace and quiet in an inner-city. Next door's runner beans are dying, but the ash trees which thresh and rustle overhead have survived the dieback blight so far. Apart from the odd insect zithering amongst the flowers, and the gulls which trace the vapour trails high above, I'm completely on my own, certainly beyond the reach of the front door bell.

That's how I write – in isolation. I can't bear any distraction: the view from my window is hard enough to resist. How JK Rowling managed to write the first volume of the Harry Potter series in a cafe beats me. As Franz Kafka once said, "I need solitude for my writing; not 'like a hermit' - that wouldn't be enough - but like a dead man.”

So here I am, sitting at my laptop like a dead man, but feeling very much alive...

What's the perfect environment in which you would like to write?