This Is Where It All Begins. Everything

As A Novelist, I'm Incredibly Lucky To Make A Living, But That Doesn't Mean That I Don't Lie Awake At Four O'clock In The Morning, Worrying.

Well, I Don't Think Hollywood's A Dirty Word At All, I Love A Lot Of Hollywood Films.

For His Thirtieth Birthday He Had Filled A Whole Night-club Off Regent Street; People Had Been Queuing On The Pavement To Get In. The Sim Card Of His Mobile Phone In His Pocket Was Overflowing With Telephone Numbers Of All The Hundreds Of People He Had Met In The Last Ten Years, And Yet The Only Person He Had Ever Wanted To Talk To In All That Time Was Standing Now In The Very Next Room.

I Can't Believe It's Actually Happening. This Is Independent Adulthood, This Is What It Feels Like. Shouldn't There Be Some Sort Of Ritual? In Certain Remote African Tribes There'd Be Some Incredible Four Day Rites Of Passage Ceremony Involving Tattooing And Potent Hallucinogenic Drugs Extracted From Tree-frogs, And Village Elders Smearing My Body With Monkey Blood, But Here,rites Of Passage Is All About Three New Pairs Of Pants And Stuffing Your Duvet In A Bin-liner.

To Have Had Fame, Even Very Minor Fame, And To Have Lost It, Got Older And Maybe Put On A Little Weight Is A Kind Of Living Death.