In my third husband I had discovered a blissfully laid-back type who thought it nothing less than hilarious when I misread the map on the way to Wales, so it took us an extra three hours, or when I was sick in a plastic carrier bag during much of the drive back from Devon - a bag that turned out to have a hole in it.

It may be a cliché, but it's true - the build-up to Christmas is so much more pleasurable than the actual day itself.

May I just single out for salutations, on the "anti-war" side: Pop Stars For Appeasement, Dancers Against Democracy, Actors For Apathy, Fashionistas For Fascism and Jugglers For Genocide. All of them united under that flaccid flag of convenience, Show-Offs For Saddam.

I wouldn't know how to fool a man any more. My deceiving days seem so long ago.

I've never been nostalgic, personally or politically - if the past was so great, how come it's history?

Fame is no sanctuary from the passing of youth... suicide is much easier and more acceptable in Hollywood than growing old gracefully.

Blakes Hotel in South Kensington was a particular favourite of mine during what I affectionately think of as my Restless Years.