She made you decent, and in return you made her so happy

At university, I used to write silly little sketches and monologues, but never fiction.

As soon as she'd met him at the arrivals gate on his return from Thailand, lithe and brown and shaven-headed, she knew that there was no chance of a relationship between them. Too much had happened to him, too little had happened to her.

…she was discovering once again that reading and writing were not the same — you couldn't just soak it up then squeeze it out again.

But how can you not like music? That's the same as not liking food! Or sex!

Happyish. Well, happyish isn't so bad.' 'It's the most we can hope for.

I worry sometimes that I'm a bit moralistic; always writing about men who are learning to grow up, not be so self-absorbed, selfish or badly behaved. I wonder if that's dull and liberal and wimpy? I should probably write something that celebrates wickedness.