I, made in England, felt excluded, miffed, resistant to the idea of even visiting India, a position of increasing absurdity as, one by one, backpacking friends returned from the place with the standard anecdotal combo of nirvanic epiphany and toilet horror.

The winter of 1991 found me stunned and shivering in the aftermath of an imploded love affair. Being 26, I flung myself actorishly on London and, without any intimations of my own ludicrousness, spent two years showing God what I thought of Him by letting myself go.

I'm constantly dogged with a feeling of fraudulence, so if somebody tells me they like what I've written, then I immediately begin to think it's rubbish.

I'm too conceited for therapy.

My biggest hope for the future is that we're successful in delivering the treatment to people through the charity and that burns just become something that happens in people's lives but doesn't make them a misfit in society and exclude them and stop all their dreams and ambitions.

I never give up when I encounter obstacles in my way. I just continue going until I reach my career objectives.

I feel lucky and blessed that I got away with the things that I did do. But there's got to be an easier way to do that. I guess people have to go through whatever their time requires them to go through and if they can see it as inspiration, you know, fine. But I'm not taking no blame for it.

My motivation comes from the plays I didn't make.