Well, We're Meant To Be Writing Stories

At Twenty Life Was Like Wrestling An Octopus. Every Moment Mattered. At Thirty It Was A Walk In The Country. Most Of The Time Your Mind Was Somewhere Else. By The Time You Got To Seventy, It Was Probably Like Watching Snooker On The Telly.

On The Fifth Day, Which Was A Sunday, It Rained Very Hard. I Like It When It Rains Hard. It Sounds Like White Noise Everywhere, Which Is Like Silence But Not Empty.

I Want My Name To Mean Me.

I Suffer Depression Only In The Sense That I Am A Writer. We Don't Have Proper Jobs To Go To. We Are On Our Own All Day. Show Me A Writer Who Doesn't Get Depressed: Who Has A Completely Stable Mood. They'd Be A Garage Mechanic Or Something.

Jane Austen Was Writing About Boring People With Desperately Limited Lives. We Forget This Because We've Seen Too Many Of Her Books On Screen.