Scribbling things down is my therapy. I filter later.

My stepfather introduced me to The London Library when I was about 18; the clientele has definitely changed since then, but it is still a wonderful oasis in the middle of London.

I first met my husband when I was 15. He was very cool, in a band, all that kind of thing, but he took a long time to grow up. Our paths crossed again 10 years later, and after about two weeks I knew that was it. I'm glad I met him when I did, even though I was fairly young. Because I think sometimes you can crystallise into singledom.

I'm very different to my mum. I'm not as beautiful as she is, nor - she probably despairs about this - as groomed. I certainly rebelled against her idea of looking well turned-out. I spent several years with a shaved head in jeans and baggy shirts.

Growing up, I wasn't allowed dolls, and my brothers weren't allowed guns. I inherited my brothers' clothes. I was never dressed in pink, and they were never dressed in blue; there were none of those rules that people still bizarrely subscribe to.

Death is final. No it is not just final, it's worse than that, it's diminishing: the dead continue to decrease, to occupy less space.

I play Nitin Sawhney's 'Letting Go' repeatedly, nonstop. I find it transformative. I'm so glad iPods were invented so I didn't have to drive everyone around me mad with the repetition.