I worked in children's TV for seven years writing and performing in shows for CBBC. My children were 10 and 5 so I was kind of hero. When they reached their teens I thought they'd get slightly embarrassed, but no, they love what I do. They've taught me so much - as any parent will tell you, children are so funny. I have done nothing but laugh with my children throughout their entire lives.  

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

For me, the hour before a show. It's very uncomfortable. I just want to go onstage. It's the waiting. I start fantasising about escaping. On the way to the gig I even imagine having a little crash - just a little, harmless one, but one that nevertheless will prevent me getting to the venue. But I think this is quite normal! - apparently even John Le Mesurier used to yearn for the studio to burn down before he reached it. The other terrible thing is doing a really good show and thinking right, that's it, this show is now perfect, fossilised, and that the next show will be every bit as good - and of course it isn't. It's a delusion. Every show is different, and once you absorb that you can ride anything. I've been booed off in Bangor (as I left the stage the manager handed me a whisky and patted me on the back) and the next night had a standing ovation. Every performer will tell you this. The Kipling line 'if you can face triumph and disaster and treat those two impostors just the same' is of course the mantra of all performers.  

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'm annoyingly driven, a constant seeker of novelty. I always like to do something new each year, and this can sometimes drive me up the wall. A producer might ask me to write a radio series, for example, and I'll think no, I did one last year, I have to do something different this year. I've flitted from doing impression shows to creating a visual comedy series (Pompidou, with Matt Lucas) then a book about comedy, then a novel. If I was describe myself to someone as if I was another person I'd say 'he finds it very difficult to settle, and focus on one path.' I envy those who can pursue one niche and stick to it. One month I'm writing a cartoon series and the next I'm pretending to be an actor from Dad's Army in a one-man show. It's ridiculous. I'm also someone who can't connect with people very well. I'm actually only happy when I'm creating something - particularly comedy. I can't do small-talk. Which is why I can sometimes come across as rude. But apart from all those things, I think I'm wonderful. 

I earn a lot. I became very wealthy in the 90's and bought a flat in the West End - from writing and performing in TV, radio, acting, commercials, stand-up etc. I then wrote a couple of books - and didn't earn much money from them! I then worked for BBC TV writing and performing in various series. I always tried to write a TV series and radio series every year. But I do work hard: a couple of years ago for example I wrote a TV series, a radio series, a book and a feature film script in twelve months. I worked for CBBC for seven years and earned loads of money because they repeated each show about 4 times a year. I was writing and performing an episode every four weeks so was earning about £8,000 a month. I've never been a stadium comic of course! - so I've never earned big money from stand-up - my main income has been from script-writing and comedy acting. My last TV series, Pompidou, is currently being shown all round the world on Netflix so that's been very lucrative and as a co-creator I was on a very high episode fee from the BBC.

 

How much would I like to earn?! Honestly, the pleasure of getting something actually made, is worth more than the money. Recently I had an animated feature film optioned, for which they paid me a lot of money, but which never got developed or made. That annoyed me intensely. I'd rather they'd adhered to their contract and developed it than had the money. 

I'm going to sound like Ayn Rand now and utter the cliche that we all create our own luck. We find what we're looking for. People come into your orbit because you have first sought them out. When I started out the one thing I wanted more than anything was my own radio comedy show. So I sent a script to Harry Thompson at the BBC. He rang me up and invited me in. Now you could say it was a lucky break meeting him and then Bill Dare, who put my stuff on and who I've worked with ever since - and within six months I'd had my own series commissioned. But I had to send Harry the script first in order for that to happen! No - we create our own luck.  

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 think I veer wildly between the two extremes. I remember playing Edinburgh with Kevin Eldon and he'd berate me - quite rightly - for being too self-critical. He would do his lovely Buddhist chanting before he went on. I tried to emulate him but kept cursing myself for getting the mantra wrong. At bottom I am probably more of a self-harmer, but I think that could be productive in a way because it drives you on to make things better.  

 

I know the golfing thing is a metaphor but I do actually love playing golf! I love to write in my head while outside. It comes from emulating Eric Sykes. He'd disappear to the golf course in the days before a script deadline, throwing his assistant Norma Farnes into a panic. He'd come back to the office a couple of hours before the script was due to be delivered to the BBC, sit down at the typewriter and type non-stop. Then he'd hand Norma the finished script on time. You see, he'd been writing it all in his head on the golf course. 

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

Blimey. I was going to choose Stan Laurel, but if we're not allowed other comedians, then it has to be P.G. Wodehouse. He's probably made me laugh than any other writer - after Galton & Simpson. The man was a comic dynamo. His drive, his creative energy, his imagination, his ingenuity - he was the master. 90 books, 40 plays and 200 short stories -  and not a dud amongst 'em. And according to all reports he was a lovely man. Totally barmy of course - lived inside his head. Apparently he too couldn't tolerate small-talk.