On The Fifth Day, Which Was A

Bore Children, And They Stop Reading. There's No Room For Self-indulgence Or Showing Off Or Setting The Scene.

I Rolled Back Onto The Lawn And Pressed My Forehead To The Ground Again And Made The Noise That Father Calls Groaning. I Make This Noise When There Is Too Much Information Coming Into My Head From The Outside World. It Is Like When You Are Upset And You Hold The Radio Against Your Ear And You Tune It Halfway Between Two Stations So That All You Get Is White Noise And Then You Turn The Volume Right Up So That This Is All Can Hear And Then You Know You Are Safe Because You Cannot Hear Anything Else

Appalling Things Can Happen To Children. And Even A Happy Childhood Is Filled With Sadnesses.

I Like Poetry When I Don't Quite Understand Why I Like It. Poetry Isn't Just A Question Of Wrapping Something Up And Giving It To Someone Else To Unwrap. It Just Doesn't Work Like That.

The Most Difficult Book I Wrote Was The Fourth In A Series Of Linked Children's Books. It Was Like Pulling Teeth Because The Publisher Wanted Exactly The Same But Completely Different. I'd Much Rather Just Do Something Completely Different Even If There's A Risk Of It Going Wrong.