Over to my left is the big grey wall in front of the church. Are we the Thoughts of God? a poster asks. No, I realise. It's the reverse.

In real life nothing means anything. Stuff happens and there just is no structure.

Living for ever would be like marrying yourself, with no possibility of a divorce.

Homeopaths argue that water has a memory.

I erased the thought from my mind, but I couldn't undo the fact that I'd had the thought in the first place.

Routine kills creative thought.

I'm a great believer in gathering together all your obsessions and seeing if you can make a novel out of them.