In London it’s easy not to be the focus of attention, especially when Sting lives in the house just behind you.

People always think I hate doing interviews. I don’t. I wouldn’t do them if I didn’t like them.

I once went to one of those parties where everyone throws their car keys into the middle of the room. I don’t know who got my moped, but I drove that Peugeot for years.

I know I’ve got a degree. Why does that mean I have to spend my life with intellectuals? I’ve got a lifesaving certificate but I don’t spend my evenings diving for a rubber brick with my pyjamas on.

I like writing a lot more than I used to. I used to find it scary but now I’ve got used to it once it gets going. I used to find it hard to start. Fear of the blank page. The first thing you write down won’t bear any relation to what’s in your head and that’s always disappointing.

Acting is not my favourite thing. I don’t like wearing costumes and wigs.

In Russia, show the least athletic aptitude and they’ve got you dangling off the parallel bars with a leotard full of hormones.

I sometimes think that being widowed is God’s way of telling you to come off the Pill.

I haven’t got a waist. I’ve just got a sort of place, a bit like an unmarked level crossing.

Everyone I meet is gay, married or crackers.