Unfortunately I have too many projects going. Two of them, fortunately, are already in the editors’ hands. One is this book on the birds of Northern Melanesia I’m doing with Jared Diamond, and that deals with speciation and particular ecology, biogeographic dispersal and all the other questions.

Yes, but I don’t think I have the energy. I’ve been hit in the face by a cricket bat at 1,000 miles an hour. I think the last round-up is here. But that’s OK. It would be bad manners to complain. I’ve had a lucky life, and I’m grateful for it.

I would have to take longer than a minute to give my whole synopsis of my life, but I want to let you know that all of us should be free and equal and have equal opportunity and that is what I’m trying to instill and encourage and inspire young people to reach their highest potential.

Dear God, not a bucket list? Really, there is nothing that I want to do before I die, except perhaps just lie back and enjoy the morphine, daydreaming my way to oblivion.

Whining.

John Boyega’s vital organs. If I couldn’t have them all, then just his heart.

On my professional stage debut, I heard my drama tutor moan, “Oh no” from the rear stalls as soon as I appeared.

Not dying before my wife and kids.

I was up for Bond and didn’t get it.

All the damn time, it comes with the territory. My family valiantly put up with most of them. Though the older I get, the bolder I am about saying no.