When I was at Oxford I used to read crime novels in the Bodleian Library instead of the books I was supposed to be studying. I would get some odd looks from the librarians when they handed over the books I'd ordered - three tomes about Beowulf, as cover, and a Ruth Rendell. Unfortunately for my academic progress, it was Beowulf I was supposed to be writing essays about...
My proudest moment was getting the highest mark in Ireland in my English Leaving Certificate exam (equivalent of A-Level), and receiving a medal from the hands of the world's loveliest Laureate, Seamus Heaney.
Our beloved cat Fred nearly deleted the final draft of The Missing. His passion for sitting on my keyboard is occasionally a dangerous one. He may of course be a reincarnated editor trying to make a point.
I once climbed a mountain in the west of Ireland and fell over four times on the way back down, including on the completely level tarmac path that led to the car park. Then two of my toenails fell off. I have not climbed any mountains since.
I'm married to a criminal barrister, but I've only seen him do his stuff in court once, some years ago. (He lost.)