I Read Very, Very Little Fiction As

I Like Dogs. You Always Know What A Dog Is Thinking. It Has Four Moods. Happy, Sad, Cross And Concentrating. Also, Dogs Are Faithful And They Do Not Tell Lies Because They Cannot Talk.

I Think People Believe In Heaven Because They Don't Like The Idea Of Dying, Because They Want To Carry On Living And They Don't Like The Idea That Other People Will Move Into Their House And Put Their Things Into The Rubbish.

Stories About Mental Aberration And Oddity Only Make Sense In Context. Just How Do People Live With Someone Who Is Peculiar, Gifted, Strange Or Alien? It's Odd Because There's A Little Part Of Me That Wants To Write About Exotic, Strange Bizarre Subjects. Instead, I've Rather Reluctantly Realised That What I Write About Is Families.

There's Something Rather Wonderful About The Fact That Oxford Is A Very Small City That Contains Most Of The Cultural And Metropolitan Facilities You Could Want, In Terms Of Bookshops, Theatre, Cinema, Conversation. But It's Near Enough To London To Get Here In An Hour, And It's Near Enough To Huge Open Spaces Without Which I Would Go Insane.

You Could Ask For Hugs If You Were Feeling Sad Or You'd Hurt Yourself, But When It Happened Spontaneously It Made You Feel Warm Inside.