It has gone past me now, the writing phase.

I enjoy a glass of wine, and I love my football. I suppose it's because I'm a real working-class.

My father, being a Scotsman, taught me to look after finances. I'm shrewd. Some people may call me tight.

Should I string her up or strangle her in bed, suffocate that venomous head? Or perhaps I'll just whip her to death. Listen, do me a favor, kill my wife.

I was a bit of a sleeper-inner.

There's nobody I look up to, really.

Love is just a hole in the wall.