I always wanted to be a rapper.

I really had no idea whatsoever. I feel that my life developed as I went along. I was never one of those people who, at an early age, had picked an objective and worked steadily towards it. All I knew was that I wanted to get involved in adventurous activity. I didn’t have any specific type of activity in mind, but I wanted to do things that were exciting and adventurous. I had a fairly diffused feeling as to what precisely it should be.

A sailor. I wanted to be in the Royal Navy like my grandad.

I had no female role models growing up. I lived an incredibly sheltered life: there was no TV at home and we had no visitors. It wasn’t until rock and pop came into my life that I concocted myself as a role model.

I can’t stand the way my voice will crack if I’m making a speech. I hate public speaking and the emotion it dredges up.

Food in a sink drain.

Lying. Let’s not call it “untruthful.” Or “factually inaccurate.” I don’t even call it bullshit, because I like bulls. And bulls need to shit. So you can’t hold that against them. Let’s call it what it is: lying.

My wife – for her intelligence, talent, ability to survive this business and be such a fantastic mother to our two kids. (Of course, I have to say that, because she’s sitting right here.)

As someone who did what he could with what he had.

They want nothing but friendship.