I am the world's worst diabetic.

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

I am from the working class. I am now what I was then. No amount of balsamic vinegar and Prada handbags could make me forget what it was like to be poor.

She liked people. Me, I can take them or leave them, but mostly leave them.

Yes, I hate it when people call me a 'national treasure'. It takes away your bite and makes you feel like a harmless old golden Labrador.

I have decided to keep a full journal, in the hope that my life will perhaps seem more interesting when it is written down.

Will you lie to me and promise to read them? Books need to be read. The pages need to be turned.