I'm not a suicidal person at all, but on paper it seems that I am. I think I'm really quite horrible to myself in many ways. You always think it's going to be fine, the body will repair itself. There will be another chance. But I'm 33 now. The body won't keep repairing itself. You know when you can flick a coin and catch it on your elbow, and flick it up and catch it on the back of your head? And then you can't even catch it with two hands any more. You realise something is wrong.

Open your heart. Don't be spiteful.

No one comes up to me asking for a crack dealer's number. People come up to me to talk about lyrics, about music, about the band.

Mix your drinks, and it's best not to cry over spilt milk, but put it back in the bottle.

I don't really deal with the attention I receive to be honest. I build up a fantasy world around me that I inhabit. I cherry pick elements of literature, music, film, history and art, then weave them together to construct a fantasy reality to live in. It doesn't always work out though, I got evicted from my own fantasy once, which was quite embarrassing.

The more that you follow me, the more I get lost

I fall in love with Britain every day, with bridges, buses, blue skies... but it’s a brutal world, man.