I spend many months in apparently listless rumination out of which I hope something will emerge.

There's nothing worse than finding yourself in a situation, a very demanding piece of work, and knowing that you're not a true ally to the person who's in charge of all that.

I like to cook things very slowly.

I'm not picky, quite honestly.

I still relate to my father very much. I mean, I talk to him in a certain way, as we do talk to the dead.

My life is devoted to self-delusion - and I have a great capacity for that - but it's the thing that gives me the most pleasure, so I can't complain about it.

I'm woefully one-track-minded.