h Bill! This isn’t the kind of news we need now. The legendary Bill Bryson, purveyor of funny, insightful, warm-hearted books on everything from travel to popular science, for most of my life to date, has announced his retirement. The 68-year-old author told Times Radio: “I don’t know how much of this is pandemic-related [but] I’m really quite enjoying not doing anything at all. For the first time in literally decades I’ve been reading for pleasure and I’m really enjoying it. Whatever time is left to me on this planet I’d like to spend it indulging myself, rather than going out and trying to cover new territory.” He’s not the first writer to announce plans to hang up his pen. Lee Child did so at the start of this year, revealing that he’d be handing Jack Reacher over to his brother Andrew. “I’ve been doing it 24 years now and I couldn’t do it any more,” he said. (The first book in that new collaboration is now out, and I can report that Reacher is as gigantic, tough and nomadic as ever.) Philip Roth said in 2012 that, at the age of 79, “enough is enough! I no longer feel this fanaticism to write that I have experienced in my life.” And he stuck to it until his death in 2018. Annie Proulx has said Barkskins would be the last novel she’ll publish – “I cannot bear the signings, interviews, book tours and all the PR stuff. I hate it. Really, really hate it” – while Jonathan Franzen has hinted at something similar. As I gently weep into my cup of tea about the lack of any new Brysons to curl up with, and snicker along with (A Walk in the Woods is my favourite … or maybe A Short History of Nearly Everything. No, definitely Notes from a Small Island), I’m comforting myself with thoughts of authors who changed their minds. Jim Crace, for instance, announced his retirement with Harvest, only to realise he “just needed a break. I thought I wanted a divorce from writing, but it turns out it wasn’t so.” And Maeve Binchy, who also changed her mind and carried on writing until her death in 2012. Bryson said he’s been “treating retirement as an experiment so far this year”, but “it’s an experiment that’s been very successful”. “I was worried, as I think most writers would be, that maybe I would run out of things to do in my leisure time, or that I would just miss having an occupation, professional distractions … but so far that hasn’t been the case,” he said. “The world is full of lots of other things you could do that are enjoyable without any of the pressures that come with trying to do these things as a job.” Look, I’m not a monster. I love the thought of Bryson spending his time “doing all the things I’ve not been able to do. Like enjoying my family. I have masses of grandchildren and I would love to spend more time with them just down on the floor.” And I am endlessly grateful to him for the hours of pure pleasure he has brought to my life: the amount of humour and insight and intelligence he packs into book after book is pretty much unrivalled. There’s no writer like him. So hail and farewell, Mr Bryson, but here’s one reader who’s hoping you might just change your mind.