It would be nice to think that a censor could allow a genuine work of artistic seriousness and ban a titillating piece of sadism, but it would take a miracle to make such a distinction stick.

There are some circles in America where it seems to be more socially acceptable to carry a hand-gun than a packet of cigarettes.

It beats me how Freud could say "What do women want?" as if we all must want the same thing.

As I look around the West End these days, it seems to me that outside every thin girl is a fat man, trying to get in.

Filing is concerned with the past; anything you actually need to see again has to do with the future.

As anyone who has ever fallen foul of an airport, a conventional hospital or a bad restaurant knows, misery is made up of little things.

An office party is not, as is sometimes supposed, the Managing Director's chance to kiss the tea-girl. It is the tea-girl's chance to kiss the Managing Director (however bizarre an ambition this may seem to anyone who has seen the Managing Director face on).