I lived at home and I cycled every morning to the railway station to travel by train to Johannesburg followed by a walk to the University carrying sandwiches for my lunch and returning in the evening the same way.
When I got my very first phone call that I'd hit the 'New York Times' list I had a small rush of 'I've made it!' But the next morning it occurred to me I didn't know what it was so I called my agent and asked what being a 'New York Times' bestselling author really meant. He informed me that I was now a thousand pound gorilla.
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Now the only thing I miss about sex is the cigarette afterward. Next to the first one in the morning it's the best one of all. It tasted so good that even if I had been frigid I would have pretended otherwise just to be able to smoke it.
