I hear it still. As I lay down my pen and take to my bed, I am aware of the bow being drawn across the bridge and the music rises into the night sky. It is far away and barely audible - but there it is! A pizzicato. Then a tremelo. The style is unmistakable. It is Sherlock Holmes who is playing. It must be. I hope with all my heart that he is playing for me . . .

All that sadness. All that anger. It is the smoke that gets into your eyes. If you do not blow it away, how can you hope to see?

If this is what you do to the winner, I'd hate to see how you treat the runner up.

I didn't set fire to the building." "No, but you did pull it into the river." "That put the fire out!

Let me ask you a question Alex. What do you think is the greatest evil on this plant today?" "Is that including, or not including you?

Until he lost all his money, my father was a successful north London Jewish businessman. He was unusual among his immediate family in that he was enormously cultured and had an incredible library.

You are meant to be here. There are no coincidences. It's all happening the way it was meant to be.