Now, perfectly ordinary people will give each other hugs. I mean, it used to be that a hug was reserved for if you came back from Australia - you know, back in the '40s and '50s.

You know, heroes are ordinary people that have achieved extraordinary things in life.

He hangs on now, pressing his hand lightly against the wall, below the window, waiting for the familiar arrow of pain. Only there is none. An oddly pleasant swell of memory, a wave of warmth flooding over him, sliding back, slowly. It is a first

I don't want closure, I don't know what that means or why you would want it.

More people go to Tate Modern than watch the Arsenal.

Depending on the reality one must face, one may prefer to opt for illusion.