It’s here. I’ve always thought that it was here. If you play to the gallery, that’s posterity. The best you can hope for is another gallery after you’ve gone, but you won’t see it. Statistically, it’s unlikely that much of what one does will be read for ever. It may just be one or two poems. For example, my Japanese Maple poem is famous among people who own a Japanese maple.

Not at all! I don’t think that you can really choose what people will like, or say, or even remember about you. I mean, my God, probably the Birkin bag will be known. … If I look myself to find out the date of something — and the first thing that pops up is that bloody bag! I think it’ll be “Je T’aime Moi Non Plus,” when I go feet first, that’ll be the tune they’ll play on the television, and then talk about the bag

I don’t care if I’m not remembered.

As Naughty Grandma – you know, the one who is always causing mischief at Christmas.

Nearly crashing into a train on one film, almost falling out of a hot-air balloon on another, narrowly avoiding getting knocked over by a taxi …

I wouldn’t change anything. Life is what it is, you just have to get on with it.

If mobile phones hadn’t been invented.

No one, I’m pretty good at saying sorry.

Things, situations, people evolve constantly. Nothing is static.

Not enough food in the fridge.