I like the American columnist Maureen Dowd - I think she's very funny, but then I read that she enjoyed eating chicken legs and .... well....that was the end of that romance.

I don't read fiction. What's the point? The basic details of my own life are stranger than anything I ever come across in modern fiction. I tend to judge a book by its cover, and - ridiculously - with any book, I start at the final chapter and work my way to the first. This is probably a sickness.