When even the scrupulously detached BBC is exhorting us to talk to God, you know something is going on.
What was he doing with her? How on earth could he love her? But he did. Or, at least, she made him feel sick, sad, and distracted. Perhaps there was another way of describing that unique and useless c...
What really matters is what you like, not what you are like
What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids li...
What better way to exorcise rejection demons than to screw the person who rejected you?
We have one of those conversations where every thing clicks, meshes, corresponds, locks, where even our pauses, even our punctuation marks, seem to be nodding in agreement.
This script was like a dish made from things you’d found in your larder and had to use up before they went off: a Welsh mountain, a casino, a blonde with a big bust.
The point is not that my life is one long golden summer which I am simply too self-absorbed to appreciate (although it might be, of course, and I am simply too self-absorbed to appreciate it), but tha...
That’s the thing with the young these days, isn’t it? They watch too many happy endings. Everything has to be wrapped up, with a smile and a tear and a wave. Everyone has learned, found love, seen the...
Take away the love and the laughter, narrate the stories as if the characters had acted with malice and self-absorption, and everybody was in a bleak independent film about alcoholism and schizophreni...
Sì, scrivere un libro all'anno è decisamente fattibile: basta buttare giù cinquecento parole al giorno (meno di un quarto di questa rubrica) all'incirca per otto mesi. Ma così rimangano soltanto quatt...
Sometimes it seems as though the only way a man can judge his own niceness, his own decency, is by looking at his relationships with women, or rather, with prospective or current sexual partners. It’s...
Sometimes I got so bored of trying to touch her breasts that I would try to touch her between her legs, a gesture that had a sort of self-parodying wit about it: it was like trying to borrow a fiver,...
She thought I was...soulful, by which I think she means that I don't say much and I always look vaguely pissed off.
She stopped typing. If she’d been using pen and paper, she would have screwed the paper up in disgust, but there wasn’t a satisfying equivalent with email, seeing as everything was designed to stop yo...
She sat down next to him, took one of his cigarettes, listened to his apologies. He was distraught, of course: he was just the kind of idiot who could only understand what things meant by doing them f...
She had come out tonight because she believed there had to be a present tense, somewhere, and she'd followed Gav and Barnesy because she'd hoped they knew where it was. Is. And they'd dragged her to y...
Se mi vedevate appoggiata al muretto che guardavo in giù, l’acqua, avreste detto: Toh, sta pensando. Ma non era vero. Cioè, avevo delle parole in testa, ma solo perché una ha delle parole in testa non...
Recently I have been attacked in newspapers by two 'fabulist' writers, as far as I can make out for the ordinariness of the worlds I portray. To which the most obvious reply is that it's all very well...
Read any women's magazine and you'll see the same complaint over and over again: men - those little boys ten or twenty or thirty years on - are hopeless in bed. They are not interested in foreplay; th...