I never would, but a recent survey suggested that younger people may be more open about sharing their earnings than us older folks. The TV money man Martin Lewis, who conducted this on-air straw poll, applauds us sharing our personal data in this way. It educates and empowers us all — he says.

I wonder whether this is true when it comes to personal health data. Understandably, this is a uniquely private matter, but to those in physical proximity, I tend to overshare in this department. Every time I sit, stand or bend over, I’m powerless to prevent a gasp of effort or a grunt of pain from my various aches and twinges. This may annoy the hell out of those around me, but similar disclosures can be useful when late for a meeting, “sorry, I’m running behind due to fallen arches at London bridge.”

However, when it comes to online data trawling, I’m fastidiously careful to avoid tracking apps designed to plunder my search history and pirate it back to me in the form of products I don’t yet know I want. I’m not going to share personal data unless I can get a commission on sales — to myself.

When it comes to my professional life as an author, I’m expected to share much more about myself. You are the product — says my publisher — so get out there and sell yourself. To that end, I’ve maintained my socials (media), I’ve done interviews, podcasts, book clubs, signings, and I’ve featured in the papers from Cambridge to Lagos, yet I’ve never really understood how much about myself I should give away.

When asked in one engagement, “who would you most like to interview,” I enigmatically replied, “God, but he’s likely to have as many questions for me as I have for him.” Cute, but a non-sequitur that ultimately revealed nothing about myself and it certainly didn’t translate into book sales.

In truth, there’s nothing about me that’s more interesting than my imagination. As Vonnegut once said, ‘the big show is happening on the inside.’ But go on then, just for once, I’ll give out some personal data in the form of my to-do list (priorities are not necessarily in this order):

• release my next novel
• help create medicines for severe unmet medical needs
• walk the dog
• send kids to uni
• earn the money to pay the kids through uni
• find the world’s most comfortable shoe
• Place the city in peril – in increasingly creative ways

I’d better explain that last one. You see, I’m writing a murder mystery. The killer (no, I won’t tell you who it is) has a war chest of dangerous elements at their disposal, and they have the infinite imagination to put them to good use. They lead the protagonist on a wild chase through Cambridge, and if only I had better shoes, I’d be able to keep up with them.