Tumbling into a dark, Lewis Carroll labyrinth of filth, pursuing a white rabbit of smut!
My life is just a series of embarrassing incidents strung together by telling people about those embarrassing incidents.
When you fall in love you recognise you’re not the most important person in the world, and your focus becomes another person.
The need to find out what will happen if I don’t relent or moderate my actions has been a constant source of difficulty and discomfort in my life.
For me happiness occurs arbitrarily: a moment of eye contact on a bus, where all at once you fall in love; or a frozen second in a park where it’s enough that there are trees in the world.
Life’s never a postcard of life, is it? It never feels like how you’d want it to look.
Honesty has always been an integral part of my operation, really.
My mum brought me up on her own. All we really had was each other.
As a performer, I’m very, very confident in what I do.
I also do a lot of Kundalini yoga.
I do have a regard for the musicality of language that came from BBC sitcoms like ‘Fawlty Towers.’
I do transcendental meditation, which is, I suppose, derived from Vedic or Ayurvedic principles, which is sort of Hindu principles.
It would have been convenient to be gay. Just because of the grooming, the narcissism, stuff like that. But I have this kind of roaring heterosexuality. Traditional, uncomplicated heterosexuality, an almost cliched Robin Askwith thing.
The bad-boy label is just an assumption.
If you have no brothers and sisters it defines you for life; even when you’re thirty you refer to yourself as an only child.
Managing wildlife? It’s wild! It don’t need managing, leave it alone.
In England, we have such good manners that if someone says something impolite, the police will get involved.
I struggle in these situations not to let my madness govern me, and to let the positive aspects of my character define my life.
The Holy Spirit ain’t got a pen.
When you’re married, it’s one person. That’s one more than a monk. It’s not that different.