So Heedless Have We Become Of Our

From Time To Time, As If Heaven-sent To Annoy, Someone Will Ask Me If I'm Self-disciplined When It Comes To My Work. I Usually Look Witheringly At Them And Snarl, 'what Do You Think?' I Mean, How Do You Imagine Anyone Writes A Quarter Of A Million Words A Year For Publication?

I Think In Retrospect That All Those 'alternative'modes Of Living Were Little More Than Exercises In Arrested Development.

I Don't Think In Terms Of That Bizarre Tautology 'value For Money' In My Literary And Journalistic Work - And Nor Will I In My Academic Role. However, If I Don't Believe I'm Helping My Students Towards A Fuller And More Empowering Relationship With The World, Then I'll Resign.

I Enjoy Doing Very High Mileages, Partly Out Of Masochism And Also Because I Like To Feel The Shape Of The Landscape.

The Whole Aesthetics Of Computers Very Much Feeds Into My Ocd. They Fill My Head With Obsessionalities And My Actions Become Very Repetitive. It Seems Quite Inimical To The Dreamy State Out Of Which Fiction Comes Which Seems So Much Less Causally Repetitive Than The Way One Works On Computers.