Somewhere, a long way away, people are doing sensible things like mowing lawns and digging gardens.

I know that we shall meet problems along the way, but I'd far rather see for myself what's going on in the world outside, than rely on newspapers, television, politicians and religious leaders to tell me what I should be thinking.

The trouble with travelling back later on is that you can never repeat the same experience.

Once the travel bug bites there is no known antidote, and I know that I shall be happily infected until the end of my life

I'd got over playing a character. People accepted who I was, and if I was incompetent and useless, they felt quite endeared to me.

I enjoy writing, I enjoy my house, my family and, more than anything I enjoy the feeling of seeing each day used to the full to actually produce something. The end.

Now, what sort of person would write a scene where a young man stumbles upon a castle full only of beautiful young women? Answer: ME!