I know that Brighton is famously a mixture of the seedy and the elegant, but in the summer of 2001 seediness swamped elegance hands down.

It seems that one moment I was this little kid only caring about animals and flowers and stuff, and then the next minute I was this raging stew of hormones. I don't know if you've ever been a raging stew of anything, but I wouldn't particularly recommend it.

Make no mistake, most women are well aware that they've never had it so good; when they enter a spa or salon, it is purely a hair/nails thing, a prelude to an evening of guilt-free fun.

A wedding is a funeral which masquerades as a feast. And the greater the pageantry, the deeper the savagery.

Being a monarchist - saying that one small group is born more worthy of respect than another - is just as warped and strange as being a racist.

When the sex war is won prostitutes should be shot as collaborators for their terrible betrayal of all women.

When did women whose looks are not their living start conducting themselves like the simpering inmates of an Ottoman empire seraglio?