I Prefer To Write First Drafts As

We've Clearly Entered A Period In Which The Analog Of Text Is No Longer Important Or Relevant. All Text Will Be Electronic. I Accept That Fact. My House Has Thousands Of Books In It, And I've Started To Look At Them Completely Differently. They Now Seem To Me To Be Like Antiquarian Objects. Their Use Value Has Become Negligible To Me Because I'm Perfectly Happy To Read On An E-reader.

I'm English Enough To Feel Something Of A Gut-reaction To Modernism, To Continental Philosophising And Anything That Smacks Of A Refusal To Pay Attention To The Forensics: The Empirical Facts On The Ground.

I Enjoy Doing Very High Mileages, Partly Out Of Masochism And Also Because I Like To Feel The Shape Of The Landscape.

The Future Continues To Preoccupy Me As A Reliable Source Of Hopes, Fears And Anxieties, But Increasingly The Present Seems To Have No Outstanding Qualities Of Its Own, Being Merely A Way-station Through Which Events Travel To The Vast Shadow Lands Of The Past.

Ideologists Of All Kinds Find A Strange Sort Of Comfort In The Madness Of The Crowd; It Confirms Them In Their Suspicion That History, Far From Being Made By The Great Mass Of Individuals - As Marx Averred - Is Rather Unmade By A Single Massive Individual, A Collective Other, Who Stands In Stark Contrast To You And He.