6. What do your parents/children (delete as applicable) think of your job?

I think they're secretly proud. Very secretly.

7. What’s the worst thing about being a comedian?

It begins as a hobby, becomes just a job and ends as an illness.

8. I think you are very good at what you do (that’s why I’m asking these questions). What do you think of you?

I don't.

9. How much do you earn and how much would you like to earn?

Not enough and significantly more. I have three daughters.

10. How important is luck in terms of career success – have you had lucky breaks?

I must have done, but it's hard to distinguish what's down to luck and what's caused by other forces: divine providence, the shenanigans of agents, centrifugal force.

I feel lucky to have been accepted at The Stand and escaped the pay-to-work scheme of the big agent-promoters.

11. Alan Davies has said that comedians fall into two categories - golfers and self-harmers. The former just get on with life, the latter are tortured artists. Which are you – or do you think you fit into a third category?

I broke Alan Davies' leg once playing football in a park in Tottenham; he's very competitive - as am I when playing someone like that. It was a fifty-fifty ball, not a foul.

I'm a self-farmer. I grow thought-crops in my mind and then harvest them through my mouth for the benefit of all.

12. Who is your favourite person ever and why – not including family or friends or other comedians?

At the moment I am particularly admiring Mrs Mary Barbour, the leader of the rent strike in Glasgow in 1915, which directly led to Lloyd George pushing through parliament a law to prevent any rent rises during the First World War and for six months afterwards - the first law of it's kind anywhere in Europe. She went on to become one of the first female councillors in Glasgow, and open the first family planning clinic among many other achievements. I've learned the song "Mrs Barbour's Army" by Alistair Hulett and sing it acapella to anyone that will listen. I suggest you do the same.

13. Do you keep your drawers tidy and if not why not? (please think long and hard about this question, it's to settle an argument with my girlfriend. The future of our relationship could depend on your response).

Spectacularly no. In my shed there are many drawers each of which is very Lionel*. Every blue moon I tidy, but never quite complete the task and before I know it I'm back to square one. When staying in a hotel room within seconds I've turned it into a tip; I leave the do not disturb sign on the door throughout my stay then tidy rigorously before leaving. My shed however remains a bomb site almost permanently. I can tidy, I do tidy, I’m very good at tidying – in the house. But not my shed. On the other hand I rarely lose things in my shed; I know exactly where they’ll be: where I dropped them. Why don’t I tidy? That I don’t know. I could posit reasons: perhaps I am still at war with my father - “Tidy your room!” he’d command “If it’s my room surely I don’t have to tidy it – otherwise in what sense it mine?” I’d reply. And there is such a thing as a creative mess – embracing chaos and the chance amalgamations of things. My shed is beyond that though; it’s layers of semi-completed/half-aborted tasks, tools, materials, fag butts, cider cans and filth, right up to the door. You must enter gingerly and tread with great care. It’s disgusting, which perhaps is what I subconsciously want: to deter anyone else from entering. It is my shame; I shall tidy up when I get home.

*Messi