Greg Davies

One of my friend calls me 'lost to showbiz', but that's only because I don't go for a drink as often as he'd like, because I'm always working. I've met very few famous people who are lost to showbiz - I have met some, mind.

I would say the more significant factor of my starting late is that I developed a sufficiently thick skin to be able to - just about - handle the knocks that a fledgling comedian takes.

Love at first sight is probably for stupid people, but maybe I'm just cynical.

I love what I'm doing and will continue to do it, and there's nothing you can do to stop me.

It often occurs to me that this is a strange way to make a living. But it's wonderful, too. There are many ways to read maturity, and I'm not fighting the instinct to simply enjoy that kind of nonsense. I love that someone would pay me to draw on somebody else's bottom.

It's an irony that with the physical decline of age comes more mental wellbeing. It's life's cruel trick. You've settled down as a person, you feel happier with who you are, and then you get a massive swollen prostate and have to go for a test every two weeks. It's life's way of saying the struggle isn't over.

In my 20s and early 30s, I was very much a man lost at sea, with very little direction in life, and painfully immature.

My dad always told me that, as far as he's concerned, I can do whatever I choose in life as long as I'm happy and can handle the consequences of bad decisions. He only ever said that when he thought I was doing the wrong thing. I would employ similar passive aggression.

My dad, who had spent his life as a lecturer, said, 'That's all very well, but you need to earn a living, so why don't you teach?' I did, and 13 years later, I woke up.

Anything my dad says about what I say about him, I can remind him of ten examples where he publicly humiliated me. We're really close. The culture of mickey-taking is well established in my family.

Myself and some kids on our estate became obsessed with the creation of the ultimate go-kart. This ambition culminated in the creation of a six-man super-cart, which was essentially a plank of wood with four wheels, and a failed attempt to jump a tributary of the River Severn powered only by Rex, our dog.

Some of my friends in this business have received awful online abuse, but I've so far pretty much avoided it - and I've largely avoided meeting hideous people in the street. Most people tend to be charming.