I live in a kind of gay bubble. I live in a gay house, I drive a gay car. I eat gay food.
I knew that this was what I wanted to talk about on stage. There was no point being coy about it, or pretending that I wasn’t gay. That was the substance of my whole act. If you took that away, there would be nothing left.
I didn’t think of myself as a tart, but I wouldn’t argue with anyone who did.
I get just as much of a thrill out of constructing a good sentence that gets a laugh at the end as I do from a joke.
My dresser and I have the hots for the new rugby ace Danny Cipriani. We have a shrine in my dressing room – press photos of him on the field looking swarthy and fit, and snaps of our boy emerging from Mayfair nightclubs, looking sexy and dishevelled.
The English like eccentrics. They just don’t like them living next door.
There is a single entendre, but I don’t know about a triple one.
The whole business of getting famous was good fun, but it was a long time ago.
It’s a wise thing to hold back.
I thought a dignified thing to do would be to live in the country by the time I’m 50 and write books.
I was lightweight – that was the whole point of me.
The bullying was hideous and relentless, and we turned it round by making ourselves celebrities.
I am full of gratitude for my life – and for this house.
The public has always had affection for gay entertainers. The time was right for an out gay entertainer.
However light-hearted you try to be about it, the loss of youth, and everything that goes with it, is quite a trauma.
It was all about wanting to get revenge. Pathetic, really, but it still is the motivation.
Rodents can come across as being quite vacant in the personality stakes.
The good thing about getting older is that, as you become less attractive, so you have less desire to go out and conquer everyone you see.
I’m not sure how aware of the rest of the world I am. I live a rather sheltered existence.
I’m currently in an interesting correspondence with a nun about forgiveness.
Just because someone’s dead doesn’t mean it’s over. My grandfather died more than 25 years ago, but I still think of him a lot and smell his smell.