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One of the signs of my anxiety is when I start to look obsessively at stationery blogs.

I adore NCIS.

The poem I wish I had written? Heard it in the Playground, by Allan Ahlberg.

I have four tattoos.

Thick novels frighten me.

I don’t think Leonard Cohen’s version of Hallelujah is that great.

In another life I would have liked to have been a drummer. Or a poet.

My grandfather was offered terms by Spurs, but turned it down because he couldn’t raise a family on footballer’s wages.

I admire the Queen.

I gave up reading certain poetry magazines to protect my mental health.

I am afraid of car accidents.

I don’t understand the American political system.

I am the son of a migrant.

The wife of a famous poet once said to me that I had a terrible name for a poet.

I collect fountain pens.

Athletics makes me cry.

I needed four goes to get Maths O level.

I still don’t understand reverse swing.

I never watch Children in Need.

I wish I had been better at History.

I want to like certain poets’ work more than I do.

Sometimes I want to be in a band again.

It took me a long time to fall in love with my name.