Being in Birmingham, I thought I was going to be a gangster or a bag-runner or a thief. I heard music and I was determined to get out of there.

I retired once but you've got to have something to retire to and I don't want to do anything. My job is like a well paid hobby, I mean not a hobby but I'm not lining up every morning at the bus queue to go to work. I'm very lucky.

Nobody ever told me, I found out for myself, you got to believe in foolish miracles.

People think I'm crazy, but I'm in demand.

There is something f-king unbelievable about seeing all of the fans go crazy and chanting 'Ozzy!' I would pay to see them.

In those days, if you wanted a new car or a holiday, you'd phone up the office and they'd send you some cash. You never had a bank account. I don't know anyone from the music business in the Seventies that it didn't happen to.

I was curious, given the swimming pools of booze I’ve guzzled over the years - not to mention all of the cocaine, morphine, sleeping pills, cough syrup, LSD, Rohypnol… there’s really no plausible medical reason why I should still be alive. Maybe my DNA could say why.