My childhood growing up in that part of Glasgow always sounds like some kind of sub-Catherine Cookson novel of earthy working-class immigrant life, which to some extent it was, but it wasn't really as colourful that.

I don't remember 'Doctor Who' not being part of my life, and it became a part of growing up, along with The Beatles, National Health spectacles, and fog. And it runs deep. It's in my DNA.

It was great being brought up in a Glasgow working-class tenement. It wasn't miserable, and it wasn't poverty stricken. It felt very safe, full of delights.

I didn't have a good childhood growing up.

You wake up but not really. In the bedroom you grew up in. It's the only place on this entire planet that is yours. The only place on the planet that understands you. It understands the way your nerves flare everytime you think about talking to anyone, scared into shyness at the thought of opening your mouth but the way you are the best hypocrite around when you're in front of a microphone. It knows what turns that switch on and off and on again. It understands the way when you don't have a smile on your face everyone only spits: "what's wrong"s and "you look tired"s. So the way you keep it on your face just wide enough to avoid questions. It understands how neurotic you have become, the way you treat your flaws like old friends. The way you look in the mirror and think of yourself as "Mr. Misery"...

When we are children we seldom think of the future. This innocence leaves us free to enjoy ourselves as few adults can. The day we fret about the future is the day we leave our childhood behind.