If Wishes Were Horses, Beggars Would Ride.

We Came In The Wind Of The Carnival. A Wind Of Change, Or Promises. The Merry Wind, The Magical Wind, Making March Hares Of Everyone, Tumbling Blossoms And Coat-tails And Hats; Rushing Towards Summer In A Frenzy Of Exuberance.

I Speak As I Must And Cannot Be Silent.

Of Course I Didn't Pioneer The Use Of Food In Fiction: It Has Been A Standard Literary Device Since Chaucer And Rabelais, Who Used Food Wonderfully As A Metaphor For Sensuality.

All Those Moments, Those Memories. Everything That We Are, Compressed In Just Two Or Three Kilos Of Paper — The Weight Of A Human Heart.

My Heroes And Heroines Are Often Unlikely People Who Are Dragged Into Situations Without Meaning To Become Involved, Or People With A Past That Has Never Quite Left Them. They Are Often Isolated, Introspective People, Often Confrontational Or Anarchic In Some Way, Often Damaged Or Secretly Unhappy Or Incomplete.