To be a head boy, you have to be very clever, you have to be a scholar, and I was never a scholar in any shape or form.

I'm finding it increasingly difficult to simply walk down the street. In New York, I dashed in to buy a big pair of sunglasses to conceal myself, but the guy behind the counter shouted 'Hey! It's Dr. House.'

Happiness is the twinkle in your grandmother's eye as you reverse the tractor off her legs.

I don't talk like House, or walk like him. I certainly don't think like him. I don't like to think for more than 15 minutes at a stretch actually; I am a fragile flower.

This was the tricky bit. The really tricky bit, trickiness cubed.

Believe it or not, perhaps I don't show it much, or well, but I think I like people.

I run six-to-eight miles a day, plus weights and aerobics in the lunch hour. I also lie a lot, which keeps me thin.