I like the idea that I can talk to any teenage girls. You know, in a language that makes sense to them.

Dad at breakfast today being very quiet. I notice he is clean shaven. I said to him, "Vati, what has happened to the little beaver that used to live on the end of your chin?

I am going to become a writer for Cosmo - you don’t have to make any sense at all. Or maybe I’ll be a bloke, they don’t have to make sense either.

Rosie laughed in a not too reassuring way if you like sane laughter.

Looking out of the window at the infinite sky, I prayed out, 'Dear Baby Jesus, I am sorry for my sin, even though I do not know what they are, which seems a bit unfair if it is going to be held against me. But that is your way. And I am not questioning your wisdomosity. In future, however, would it be possible for my life to be not so entirely crap? Thank you.

A nod is as good as a wink to a blind badger.

He who laughs last laughs the laughiest.