I am seventy-six years old now, and the best I can hope for is a little more of the same. I don't feel in the least sorry about this. In fact, I think the world has treated me well and given me interesting experiences and a bit of success, which we all need as validation. I have had awards dinners, and audiences shouting and cheering on Broadway first nights, and I have loved it all.

I enjoy the rituals, naturally, and the screams of delight are music to my ears. But, for myself, I don't want any more stuff. This is not me going mystical. I love my things, and they give me daily pleasure. But I have enough now to keep me happy for the rest of my life.

I don't ever want to be given a book again, unless I have asked for it. I never read the books I am given as presents, and they sit in unloved piles, in the corners of our least-used bedrooms. So, a book token maybe, but never a book.

Mainly, I like to be given things I can swallow or possibly watch. Caviar, good wines, macadamia nuts, all these are welcome, and possibly opera or ballet tickets. I love opera, and ballet, but I never seem to go to either of my own volition, so a giver-of-tickets would be doing me a real favour.

I would be really pleased with a credit at Turnbull & Asser, where I get my shirts. Again, I should not enjoy this if the shirt were chosen, only if I were given the opportunity to choose one for myself. But then I would be grateful.

I love my friends, and I have been lucky enough to acquire a wide variety, from all backgrounds, with all beliefs, political and religious, and my pleasure is to see them and hear from them before too many start to leave their perches (or I do). A lunch or a dinner at Wilton's in Jermyn Street or the Ritz would take a lot of beating where I'm concerned, and I can see myself opening that envelope with real pleasure.