I have a Stratocaster, which is part of my long, doomed ambition to become Jimi Hendrix.

My five-litre Ford Mustang.

I had a midlife crisis and paid 70 grand for a Morgan AeroMax which looked just like Cruella de Vil’s car. I was in a permanent state of terror and soon sold it.

I have a Maserati. I love pop art and I collect Warhol, Hirst and Hockney.

A strong sense of being loved and a hopefulness for their life ahead.

Yesterday because I was being paid to do it on stage.

Flashes of hubris.

Hopefully we have life in the minds and hearts of the people we interacted with.

I was going to a bar with friends and there was a line at the door. I’d been there before and asked the doorman to skip the line. He said, “Oh, I remember you, you were in Almost Famous, weren’t you?” And I said, “Yeah.” And he goes, “Yeah, get back in line.”

Giving a speech in high school at a pep rally that wasn’t going so well and the dean unplugged the mic. Apparently, I was rambling and the spirit of the cafeteria was being weighed down.