Heaven. The biggest waste of our time we ever invented, outside jigsaws.
I hate that tabloid idea of anybody who is famous having to forfeit their privacy.
Once you've got a big feminist and political justification for talking about how you went round to Benedict Cumberbatch's house and did period all over his sofa, then there's no reason not to tell that anecdote in the middle of a dinner party.
In the end I want to spend my 60s writing bonkbusters like Jilly Cooper.
I just want Tina Fey to be my best friend. And Lena Dunham. And Oprah, too.
Why on earth have I, because I'm a woman, got to be nice to everyone?