I've always loved books. I'm passionate about them. I think books are sexy. They are smooth and solid and contain delightful surprises. They smell good. They fit into a handbag and can be carried around and opened at will. They don't change. They are what they are and nothing else. One day I want to own a lot of books and have them nbear to me in my house, so that I can stroll to my bookshelves and choose what I fancy. I want a harem. I shall keep my favourites by my bed.

I don't know why women are so mad about flowers. Personally, they leave me cold. I prefer trees.

I never imagined when I began writing in the early 1960s I'd become professional and my life would be transformed.

I married two weeks after my 18th birthday, far too young, and by the time I was 23 I was a single mother of three small children, Sean, Daniel and Victoria, living in a prefab house.

I'm spectacularly disorganised. I wrote my latest book in seven different notebooks scattered throughout my house.

My skin is dead good. I think it must be a combination of being in love and Lucozade.

Now I know I am an intellectual. I saw Malcolm Muggeridge on the television last night, and I understood nearly every word. It all adds up. A bad home, poor diet, not liking punk. I think I will join the library and see what happens.