Tuesday night I reorganized my record collection. I often do this at periods of emotional stress. There are some people who would find this a pretty dull way to spend an evening, but I'm not one of them. This is my life, and it's nice to be able to wade in it, immerse your arms in it, touch it.

I love the detail about the workings of the human heart and mind that only fiction can provide - film can't get in close enough.

Every time people force themselves to carry on with a book they're not enjoying, they reinforce the idea that reading is a duty.

my friends don't seem to be friends at all but people whose phone numbers I haven't lost.

It is a strange paradox that while the grief of football fans(and it is real grief) is private - we each have an individual relationship with our clubs, and I think that we are secretly convinced that none of the other fans understands quite why we have been harder hit than anyone else - we are forced to mourn in public, surrounded by people whose hurt is expressed in forms different from our own.

I'm coming to London next week, by the way, in unhappy circumstances. Are we getting on fine as we are? Or would you like a drink?

I've committed to nothing...and that's just suicide...by tiny, tiny increments.