As I Said, I Had No Publisher

As I Said, I Had No Publisher For What A Carve Up! While I Was Writing It, So All We Had To Live Off Was My Wife's Money And Little Bits I Was Picking Up For Journalism.

Ah, Well, I Have No Talent For Nonfiction, That's My Problem.

I Live A Perfectly Happy And Comfortable Life In Blair's Britain, But I Can't Work Up Much Affection For The Culture We've Created For Ourselves: It's Too Cynical, Too Knowing, Too Ironic, Too Empty Of Real Value And Meaning.

The Plain Fact Is That She Never Really Liked Me, And Never Wanted Me. I Had Been A Mistake; And That, To Some Extent, Is What I Remain In My Own Eyes, To This Day. The Knowledge Never Goes, Can Never Be Undone. You Just Have To Find A Way To Live With It.

We Say, 'shall We Meet For A Drink?', As Though Drinking Were The Main End Of The Appointment, And The Matter Of Company Only Incidental, We Are So Shy About Admitting Our Need For One Another.[...]we Say, 'would You Like To Come For Some Coffee?', As Though It Were Less Frightening To Acknowledge That We Are Heavily Dependent On Mildly Stimulating Drinks, Than To Acknowledge That We Are At All Dependent On The Companionship Of Other People.