Shirley Hughes has written and illustrated more than 50 books for children. She won the Book Trust’s inaugural lifetime achievement award in 2015; her book Dogger was voted the most popular winner in the first 50 years of the Kate Greenaway medal for illustration. The latest instalment of her bestselling series of Alfie books, Alfie and His Very Best Friend, is published in September. She is 89. This interview took place in the house in Notting Hill, London, that she and her late husband, the architect John Vulliamy, moved into in 1957, and where she has lived ever since.

Do you still draw every day?
I do. Well I have to! I have a contract. And there’s never a shortage of anything to draw.

When did you start?
In childhood. I had two older sisters. I was never much interested in dolls. It was realised I could draw at some point and I left school early and went to Liverpool art school. The main concern for girls on the Wirral then was to get that engagement ring on your finger. My eldest sister married quite young. I went down to the tennis club in my beautiful white shorts but somehow it didn’t work out. I told myself it was because of my weak backhand. And then it was getting a bit claustrophobic at home so I thought I’d better get away and got a place off at Ruskin College, Oxford, after the war.

I was reading [your son] Ed Vulliamy’s recent piece in the Observer about your father TJ Hughes, who started Liverpool’s famous department store. I hadn’t realised that he died when you were only five. Do you remember him?
Only vaguely. But all good things. TJ was a very driven man. He made sure you could buy things at TJ Hughes at a very low cost. The children of dockers would get a place at the grammar school and then be unable to go because they couldn’t afford the little blazer and cap. My father made sure they could buy them at TJ Hughes and he built up his customers like that. His profit margins were tiny, but he did well. He was from a Welsh Methodist family. Lots of severe women in black dresses.

His death must have cast a shadow over your own childhood?
It did. My mother became very shy I think. But the one great thing was she took us to the theatre. There were three in Liverpool: the Playhouse, which did classic drama, the Royal Court, which did touring plays, and the Empire, which did variety. I loved all of it. I thought I would go into theatre, do set design or costumes. But then at some point in Oxford I realised that a book could be a little theatre. I had a tutor who said, “What about illustration?” And suddenly I clicked into place.

For a while you illustrated other people’s books: Noel Streatfeild, Alison Uttley…
Yes – and all those awful first readers. “Rip is a dog.” “I see Rip.” It was liberating to start doing my own things. Everyone said Alfie would never be accepted abroad. They said: “You’re too English”, which indeed I am of course. But eventually Dogger was my big breakthrough, and sold all over the world. Nothing could be more English than Dogger. Much of it takes place at a jumble sale.

Did that success come as a surprise?
It did. I was very much soldiering on. I always worked alongside quite a tough domestic schedule while our children Ed, Tom and Clara were growing up. When John and I first married we came to live here in then very seedy and rundown Notting Hill. We loved it because we had this shared garden at the back where all the kids could play. Very unkempt. It was always full of masses of children, less so now.

Your books are wonderfully nostalgic for that pre-school time, when children are discovering the world…
Yes, but still clinging on to your legs. I still love watching kids and drawing out here. Sports day is good value. I love how they stand when they look uncertain or when they all suddenly become engaged in peering at something and all crouch down intently and then fly off like a flock of birds.

A friend once said to Lisa, my wife, “I wish we all could just live in a Shirley Hughes book.” It’s hard not to agree…
Did she? How lovely. But no family is without tension of course. I didn’t push my own children I don’t think. Ed was always going to be a journalist. On election day he would be out on the pavement holding a skipping rope handle as a microphone, asking people if they would like to say a few words. Tom became a microbiologist and he would go and bicycle up to school on Saturday and feed the animals they kept. And then Clara became an illustrator. I never suggested she draw. But I used to leave my paints in the palette and she would go up and have a go when she came home from school. Like letting them scrape the bowl when you have made a cake.

You started writing full-length novels in your 80s – how did that happen?
When my husband died in 2007, I found work was a terrific help. That was when I started to think about the novels. I still try to get to my desk every morning by about half past nine. I work until late lunch and then I knock off. I have never worked in the afternoon. I’ve always thought it best to get on with things in the mornings, when you are at the top of your energy. And then take it a bit easier after that.

The dad in the Alfie books is such a positive and cheerful character – is there a bit of your husband in that?
Yes, John was a very sweet, reassuring dad. The mum in the books is not me, but she is not so different. She is a bit harassed, you know, trying to hang on to her figure, that sort of thing.

Are you finding that children still love the books as much as ever – despite all their digital distractions?
Well, the great thing about reading is that it’s not a competition. People tell me: he’s read this and he’s moved on to this. That’s not what it is about. I want them to spend time looking, learn how to turn the page. But I do think these phones are a problem for all ages. I see beautiful young lovers walking by and they are both staring at their phones rather than each other. I mean: really! But as long as they fund the libraries I think books will be fine. If your child is ill, what is guaranteed to cheer them up? Always a book.

Alfie and His Very Best Friend is published by Bodley Head on 1 September (£10.99). Click here to preorder a copy for £9.01