As you go through life, you discover so many forms of love – passionate, compassionate, familial, friendship. Love is hard to describe but it’s wonderful.

Love is a religious experience, which then requires me to define religion, which I define as everything I don’t understand.

I’m trying to figure out how to receive unconditional love. That’s hard to do when you’ve never really had it, so I’m trying to navigate that.

Right now, like I have no intention of going anywhere else.

That will depend on when and how I die, but you couldn’t beat The Birdie Song to set the right tone.

Last week I saw a moorhen feeding her chicks, and became overwhelmed by the miracle of parenthood and maternal sacrifice. And I hadn’t even been drinking.

My mother. Any child of a single parent, if they are in a relationship when they become a parent, thinks, “How the hell did you do it alone?”

As the father of Celtic’s all-time top goalscorer (that’s either of my kids).

It’s a toss-up between organising a new filing system at Hammersmith & Fulham social services and relying on tips in the least popular restaurant in London to get through drama school.

I inadvertently rubbed the milky residue of a toxic cactus plant into my eye while filming Women In Love in the desert in Namibia, and my body went into anaphylactic shock as the producer sped me to a clinic 50 miles away.