But Just Think What A Boring, Bread-and-milk

When I Started At The Guardian, Though, I Couldnt Think Of Anything We Saw Eye To Eye On, Except Feminism, And Even This Would Soon Be Arguable As Guardian Writers Queued Up To Drool Over Eminem.

Some Say That Cusk Has No Sense Of Humour, But Expecting Giggles From This Writer Would Be Akin To Expecting Sonnets From Benny Hill.

Grooming Oneself With All The Crazed Compulsion Of An Under-exercised Lab Rat In Order To Hook A Rich Man And Obtain A Lush Lifestyle Makes A Certain (albeit Seedy) Sense.

Writing Is More Than Anything A Compulsion, Like Some People Wash Their Hands Thirty Times A Day For Fear Of Awful Consequences If They Do Not. It Pays A Whole Lot Better Than This Type Of Compulsion, But It Is No More Heroic.

Mind You, I've Always Been A Very Off-message Type Of Fat Broad; One Who Gladly Admits She Reached The Size She Is Now Solely Through Lack Of Discipline And Love Of Pleasure, And Who Rather Despises People (except Those With Proven Medical Conditions) Who Pretend That It Is Generally Otherwise.