Sixty felt like a big landmark. Not in a dreadful sense, but none of the other birthdays have bothered me. It's got labels on it - OAP, retirement - and I just wanted to take stock. I wanted to be in my greenhouse at home and at least give myself the opportunity of not working again.

I couldn't watch Tom and Jerry. The cruelty was too much. I had all these strange images, of tiny animals, all mixed up.

I was always someone who lived in the future all the time, it was always the next thing - dreams of escape.

I always loved my mother, felt loved, but she was judgmental. Her father in Ireland didn't approve of women generally, and she took on his values. She believed her own mother was foolish.

I was the little, funny one. I felt I was the child among grown women.

I felt my mother about the place. I don't think she haunts me, but I wouldn't put it past her.

I went through bits of the 60s and thought myself a bit of a hippy.