I Became A Full-time Writer In 1993

Cats, I Always Think, Only Jump Into Your Lap To Check If You Are Cold Enough, Yet, To Eat.

I've Heard People, Usually Writers, Say That No One Wrote A Great Book After Winning The Booker, But I Honestly Did Not Feel Any Big Pressure. The Gathering Did Hang Over Me In That It Was Darker Than I Thought At The Time.

And What Amazes Me As I Hit The Motorway Is Not The Fact That Everyone Loses Someone, But That Everyone Loves Someone. It Seems Like Such A Massive Waste Of Energy -- And We All Do It, All The People Beetling Along Between The White Lines, Merging, Converging, Overtaking. We Each Love Someone, Even Though They Will Die. And We Keep Loving Them, Even When They Are Not There To Love Any More. And There Is No Logic Or Use To Any Of This, That I Can See.

I Think You Know Everything At Eight. But Is Is Hidden From You, Sealed Up, In A Way You Have To Cut Yourself Open To Find.

A Drinker Does Not Exist. Whatever They Say, It Is Just The Drink Talking.