Literature sustains me. No, it does more than that it nourishes me. I like to take it nice and slow like my food, chewing over it so that every burst of sensation, of taste is acknowledged and felt. I listen and read. They are different but the ingestion, in the end, is the same. Yesterday, while working, it was George Eliot’s Silas Marner – read to me rather than adapted and acted out. Sean Baker read it. He has a marvellous voice, rich, throaty, real. At breakfast it was William Trevor’s Last Stories. How exquisitely he writes. So succinct. So much left out and yet you think afterwards that he has told you. He hasn’t. They are full of compassion, of sadness. The sadness of lonely rooms with too little light. I read to learn but I also read to live.