To Sophie, for not being a better parent.

Walsall fans. I wanted to be a good manager but I was really bad with drink and gambling at the time. I should have done better.

My dad, because he died before I could say goodbye.

To my cousin P, who was one of my best mates growing up. We lost him when we were in our 20s and, before he passed away, I was so busy with this stupid thing called life and a brand new kid. He called me and said: “Bro, I’m not feeling right.” And I said: “Bro, you’ve never been feeling right.” And it always sits on my head that if me or somebody else had been paying more attention maybe things would have worked out different. He had extremely rare bowel cancer and died five weeks later at 27.

I am going straight to cremation like David Bowie, so there would be no funeral.

The moment my daughter was born in 1999, because it took me seven years to conceive.

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.

It’s like digging a field together: it’s hard work, not very glamorous, but you can stand back and think, “We did that.”

Romantic love – what a con. (I do still believe in it.)

In my first job in film, a giant bloke dressed like a sumo wrestler asked me to get his G-string out of his arse. He said he couldn’t reach it.