A lot of my poems are about how ill I am and how I probably won't live beyond next week. I publish a poem and everyone says 'cluck cluck, how wonderful, how brave', but then embarrassingly I'm still here! You see the problem?

Experts say men think of sex every 10 seconds... What do they think of in the other nine?

Visitors who come from the Soviet Union and tell you how marvelous it is to be able to look at public buildings without advertisements stuck all over them are just telling you that they can't decipher the cyrillic alphabet.

Even in moments of tranquility, Murray Walker sounds like a man whose trousers are on fire.

I love reading about the sea. I love reading about it a lot more than actually being on the sea, when you think about it.

Perhaps I should have pointed out more often that without her (mother's) guidance and example I might have gone straight from short pants to Long Bay Gaol, which in those days was still in use and heavily populated by larcenous young men who had chosen their parents less wisely.

As a work of art, it reminds me of a long conversation between two drunks