“I am totally, absolutely romantic. When I broke up with a girl I would listen to the most heart-breaking music and make it worse. That’s what girls do. I think I am a girl really.”

When I was 12, we went from Glasgow to Aberdeen on a school trip. It was called fresh air fortnight.

There’s nothing like it, but it’s not as good as you think it’s going to be. . . . I was disappointed because there are records of people finding things that have been there for years. I was hoping for a shirt button, or my club’s badge – but not a sausage.

Don’t buy one of those baby intercoms. Babies pretend to be dead. They’re bastards, and they do it on purpose.

In Mexico, everything on the menu is the same dish. The only difference is the way it’s folded.

I don’t understand art-speak. My pictures are big doodles. I’m amazed what people come up with when they look at them.

There’s a fine line you have to tread because you don’t know who is out there in the auditorium. A lot of people are too easily offended.

Life is supposed to be fun. It’s not a job or occupation. We’re here only once and we should have a bit of a laugh.

I was brought up as a Catholic. I’ve got A-level guilt.

There’s one of a figure with two heads that somebody thought must be a comment on the state of matrimony. None of it is a comment on anything.

I loathe hecklers. I haven’t got a good syllable to say. When you come out of the club circuit and into the concert hall, they should be gone.

I don’t believe in angels, no. But I do have a wee parking angel. It’s on my dashboard and you wind it up. The wings flap and it’s supposed to give you a parking space. It’s worked so far.

I decided to stop drinking while it was still my idea.

Politically correct is the language of cowardice.

I don’t think I’ve ever died on stage. I’ve had jokes that died on stage. I’ve told a joke and absolutely nothing. They didn’t know it was the end of the joke.

[To audience members who were arriving late] You haven’t missed a thing, I was just killing time ’til you got here.

The strangest thing is at tea breaks, or coffee breaks or lunch, you forget you’re a zombie. And you’re talking about politics to somebody at the table and you forget that you have a bullet hole in your forehead.