I Met Richard Burton, An Raf Cadet

I Was Cleaning Out The Pigsty At A Farm In Wales, Where My Mother Had Rented A Room, When The Results Of My Final School Exam Were Handed To Me By The Postman, Along With The News That I Had A State Scholarship To Oxford. I Had Waited For This Letter For So Many Weeks That I Had Abandoned Hope, Deciding That I Had Failed Ignominiously.

I Would Hate To Live In The Country, Unless I Was Living On A Farm.

I Met Richard Burton, An Raf Cadet On A Two-term Course. I Would Have Flirted More Enthusiastically If It Had Not Been For The Horrid Boils On The Back Of His Neck.

One Good Reason For Writing Novels Based On Your Life Is That You Have Something To Read In Old Age When You've Forgotten What Happened.

I Met My Second Husband On A Bus. We Looked At Each Other And That Was It. We Were Both Married To Other People At The Time And Behaved Badly, But We Didn't Seem To Have Any Choice. We Were Very Happy For Nearly 50 Years And Would Still Be Together If It Wasn't For The Bloody Railways.