Everybody knows that everybody dies. But not every day. Not today. Some days are special. Some days are so, so blessed. Some days, nobody dies at all. Now and then, every once in a very long while, every day in a million days, when the wind stands fair and the Doctor comes to call, everybody lives.

Rose: Look at you, beaming away like you're Father Christmas! The Doctor: Who says I'm not, red-bicycle-when-you-were-twelve? Rose: [shocked] What? The Doctor: And everybody lives, Rose! Everybody lives! I need more days like this! Go on, ask me anything; I'm on fire!

You have to take your own bold approach, and if you do you will be rewarded with success. Or calamitous failure. That can happen too.

Amy: I had something I wanted to tell him. Stuff always gets in the way. Canton: Stuff does that.

I always tend to favor the newer idea.

Like most writers, I write about what has happened to me as that involves the minimum amount of research.

River Song? Amy Pond? Hardly weak women. It's the exact opposite. You could accuse me of having a fetish for powerful, sexy women who like cheating people. That would be fair.