The Fact Was I Loved My Wife

I Identified With Pip From 'great Expectations,' Especially When I Was Younger; I Had The Same Kind Of Gaucheness And Uncertainty.

It Would Be Inappropiate, Undignified, At 38, To Conduct Friendships Or Love Affairs With The Ardour Or Intensity Of A 22 Year Old. Falling In Love Like That? Writing Poetry? Crying At Pop Songs? Dragging People Into Photobooths? Taking A Whole Day To Make A Compilation Tape? Asking People If They Wanted To Share Your Bed, Just For Company? If You Quoted Bob Dylan Or Ts Eliot Or, God Forbid, Brecht At Someone These Days They Would Smile Politely And Step Quietly Backwards, And Who Would Blame Them? Ridiculous, At 38, To Expect A Song Or Book Or Film To Change Your Life.

I Had Always Been Led To Believe That Ageing Was A Slow And Gradual Process, The Creep Of A Glacier. Now I Realise That It Happens In A Rush, Like Snow Falling Off A Roof.

As A Novelist, I'm Incredibly Lucky To Make A Living, But That Doesn't Mean That I Don't Lie Awake At Four O'clock In The Morning, Worrying.

I Suppose The Important Thing Is To Make Some Sort Of Difference.