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.