I am 54 and age is slowly writing itself on my face.

It's worth turning up to an awards gig if you know you've won one but, since you never do know, it's not worth it.

Listening to Chris Moyles on Radio 1 is the most miserable thing any human being can do, but attending awards ceremonies isn't far behind.

My sister-in-law believes that few narratives are so tightly constructed that you can't skip boring bits and still keep abreast of what's going on.

The outfits come and go but there is a constant that I like about the catwalk model: the snotty expression.

If you want to write something of length, however modern and radical, you must live the life of an elderly gentleman of the 1950s.

I find it hilarious that there are academics who try to analyse chemical changes in the brains of students while exposing them to gags.