My mum died in her early 70s, and for the last six or seven years of her life she couldn’t move, didn’t speak. By the time our children were born, she was too ill to communicate. I haven’t many regrets in life, but I do regret that they never got to know her, even though she was still alive for a few years. They couldn’t see her warmth, her spirit, her courage.

It’s all a learning experience, even if it’s a shit time.

My all-girls’ high school. I hated it. Large groups of teenage girls aren’t known for their empathy and kindness. It was a shock to realise that people viewed me as uncool because of the way my body worked.

I was probably too cheeky to chairmen over the years.

Infinite money might allow me to achieve unbounded creativity.

I cry all the time.

I would obviously be in a good place chemically, the synapses would be content. I would play with my kids. I don’t think I would have time to watch anything by Ingmar Bergman. Bergman would suddenly feel like not that good a director if I only had a few hours.

We used to have one of those gat guns that shot pellets. My friend pretty much had the thing at point-blank range to my temple. It popped out and completed its trajectory about a millimetre from my head.

Cleaning toilets in a motorway service station.

To my dad for not making it back to Birmingham to see him while I was in London doing The Streets.