Home's Where You Go When You Run

The Cat Sat On The Mat Is Not A Story. The Cat Sat On The Other Cat’s Mat Is A Story.

I Don't Know Whether It's Age Or Maturity, But I Certainly Find Myself Committed More And More To The Looser Forms Of Western Democracy At Any Price.

Remember Graham Green's Dictum That Childhood Is The Bank Balance Of The Writer? I Think That All Writers Feel Alienated. Most Of Us Go Back To An Alienated Childhood In Some Way Or Another. I Know That I Do.

All Power Corrupts But Some Must Govern.

The Spy Who Came In From The Cold Was The Work Of A Wayward Imagination Brought To The End Of Its Tether By Political Disgust And Personal Confusion. Fifty Years On, I Don't Associate The Book With Anything That Ever Happened To Me, Save For One Wordless Encounter At London Airport When A Worn-out, Middle-aged Military Kind Of Man In A Stained Raincoat Slammed A Handful Of Mixed Foreign Change On To The Bar And In Gritty Irish Accents Ordered Himself As Much Scotch As It Would Buy. In That Moment, Alec Leamas Was Born. Or So My Memory, Not Always A Reliable Informant, Tells Me.