To any of the players I may have fallen out with during my time in management.

Martin Scorsese. I was, let’s say, slightly tactile with him during a Q&A; I was more nervous than I’ve been about anything. I kept tapping his knee, it might even have been bruised by the end.

Most of the people that saw me do comedy between the years 2007 and 2012.

My stepmother died a few years ago but I didn’t make that last hour to have a conversation with her, so I’d like to say sorry for that.

I like the idea of being atoms that other people can breathe in, and fabulous worm food.

My kids, and getting some of the stories I had in my head on to paper in a way that wasn’t too far removed from the thing I dreamed about writing.

Mostly the pain. I don’t want to be trapped in a body that hurts.

The only job I quit was, aged about 23, subediting a “men’s” magazine. My job was typing out readers’ pornographic fantasies. I started wishing people would reproduce by splitting down the middle.

As someone who left the world slightly more interesting than he found it.

And when things get tough, this is what you should do. Make good art. I’m serious. Husband runs off with a politician? Make good art. Leg crushed and then eaten by mutated boa constrictor? Make good art. IRS on your trail? Make good art. Cat exploded? Make good art. Somebody on the Internet thinks what you do is stupid or evil or it’s all been done before? Make good art. Probably things will work out somehow, and eventually time will take the sting away, but that doesn’t matter. Do what only you do best. Make good art.