At lunchtime I bought a huge orange The size of it made us all laugh. I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave— They got quarters and I had a half. And that orange it made me so happy, As ordinary things often do Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park This is peace and contentment. It's new. The rest of the day was quite easy. I did all my jobs on my list And enjoyed them and had some time over. I love you. I'm glad I exist.

I've never been more famous than I was, suddenly, in 1986.

When a poem doesn't work, the first question to ask yourself is, 'Am I telling the truth?'

Bloody men are like bloody buses - you wait for about a year and as soon as one approaches your stop two or three others appear.

Possibly I've become less funny as I've been happier.

Bloody Christmas, here again, let us raise a loving cup, peace on earth, goodwill to men, and make them do the washing up.

Write to amuse? What an appalling suggestion! I write to make people anxious and miserable and to worsen their indigestion.