Don’t write in public places. In the early 1990s I went to live in Paris. The usual writerly reasons: back then, if you were caught writing in a pub in England, you could get your head kicked in, whereas in Paris, dans les cafés . . . Since then I’ve developed an aversion to writing in public. I now think it should be done only in private, like any other lavatorial activity.

Brummies have adopted the sense that we live in a shit-hole, but in terms of green space, culture and community, it’s unrivalled. It’s a calm and happy place; my heart rate drops when I get off the train from London. I say, kind of with tongue in cheek, but not that far in my cheek, that it’s the best city in the world.

I was very well organized in my things. I am an exceptional worker, not only a risk taker. And I was not in competition with anybody. Many people died because they were in competition.

I will start by stating the obvious. No one here questions whether development is desirable. No one questions the inherent need to save lives and help others by giving. However, I believe that we need to rethink the ways in which we help others. We need to give from the perspective of empowering the recipient, instead of making them dependent on us.

“Until we are all free, we are none of us free.” —Emma Lazarus. Perfect happiness exists only in my imagination at the moment.

I am kneeling because I have to do something. Anything. We all do.

Even more simply, you can ask yourself this question: "Do I truly care about equality for all people in this country?" If the answer is yes, then demand to be a better, more educated, more empathetic version of yourself. And demand the same of every single person you know.

I wish I wasn’t so rash, but would I be me if I wasn’t?

Humor and honesty. And, like me, they always think the unnecessary last drink is a great idea.