Ian McMillan finds out he's not claustrophobic while recording the audio version of his new book

The confidence is brittle because I’m wondering what’s about to happen. Am I about to be sealed into a tiny box and lowered down a well because the sound quality is better down there? That’ll test whether I’m claustrophobic or not.

It’s not as bad as that, to be honest. Jack leads me to a corner of the recording area in DC Studios in Barnsley, a room that usually rings and throbs to the sound of bands and singer-songwriters, and points me to a tiny booth he’s rigged up between some speakers and a draped wall. “Your home for the next two days!” he announces, and I have to admit the acoustics are good.

“Do you want to stand or sit?” he asks and I say that I’ll stand. He knew I would because I’ve recorded things here before and we both know that stand helps the breathing, helps the projection. I glance around; although the space is tight, I’ve still got room to wave my arms around like a scarecrow in distress because I find that aids the rhythm of the speech.

I’m here to record the audiobook of my new memoir of time spent by the sea, My Sand Life, My Pebble Life, which is coming out next month. When the publisher asked if I’d like to do the audiobook, rather than an actor who was trying to sound like me, I jumped at the chance. After all, who wouldn’t want to stand waving their arms around for two days in a tight studio spouting sentences they’d written months before?

I opened my bottle of still water. I settled my glasses on a shelf. I blew my nose. I cleared my throat. I performed an experimental wave of the arms. I made sure I could see the words on the iPad in front of me. I began to speak.

Read more: Death of Fat Friends writer Kay MellorThe book is written in 50 chapters, each of 1,000 words, each chapter containing one memory or one thought about the coast. As I began to record, I tried not to think about how many chapters I had done, and how many I still had to do. Just say the words, McMillan. Don’t think about how few you’ve done and how many you’ve still got to do. “That’s three done and 47 to go,” Jack says down the headphones, helpfully.

As the recording goes on, I realise that I use certain phrases again

and again. There are a lot of gulls in the book and they are always wheeling away. If I had to pay a tax every time I used the word “decades”, I would be a poor man. If I had a chance, I would do another draft of the book, but I’m unable to do that.

Just read the words. Just wave your arms about. The gulls are wheeling. Just read the words.