We're Playing Scrabble. It's A Nightmare." "scrabble?"

I'm Never Going To Believe A Poirot Mystery Again. Never. All Those Witnesses Going, "yes, I Remember It Was 3:06 P.m. Exactly, Because I Glanced At The Clock As I Reached For The Sugar Tongs, And Lady Favisham Was Quite Clearly Sitting On The Right-hand Side Of The Fireplace." Bollocks. They Have No Idea Where Lady Favisham Was, They Just Don't Want To Admit It In Front Of Poirot. I'm Amazed He Gets Anywhere.

Being A Journalist Is Good If You Want To Write Books: It Teaches You To Get Beyond The Blank Screen. My Books Have Been Described As Froth But There's Scope To Be Witty And Ironic About Everything In Life.

I'll Have To Admit, He Really Does Have Quite A Smile.kind Of Heart-stopping, Especially As It Comes Out Of Nowhere. I Mean... You Know. If Your Heart Was In The Kind Of Place To Be Stopped.

In The End, You Have To Choose Whether Or Not To Trust Someone.

But Sometimes You Have To Be Brave. Sometimes You Have To Show People What's Important In Life.