I don't want The Cure to fizzle out doing 45-minute shows of greatest hits. That would be awful for our legacy.
It's really nice meeting people after a concert. Still, it's very weird to be at the center of a group of 30 people all listening to what you're saying. When that group turns into 300 people, it goes on from weird. Some people revel in it, and I don't.
You can't drink on an eight hour flight, pass out, and then go onstage... well you can, but then you're Spandau Ballet.
I'm happy quite a lot of the time. I've done far more than I ever thought I would have, so I'd be very hard-pressed to walk around miserable.
When we started I wasn't the singer. I was the drunk rhythm guitarist who wrote all these weird songs.
Both me and my wife's extended family all live within a 50-mile radius. Like me, a lot of them did time in London then started drifting back to the countryside and the sea. Perhaps it's a homing instinct.
There were only two times in my life when I've actually felt down about things and gotten myself into a full mental mess. One of the times was in 1982. I had a horrible time for a few months and felt pretty desperate. Then again in 1984, for various reasons, not all of them within my control. Since then, I just wander in and out of black moods.
I always place myself as the archetypal Cure fan. I'm the wrong age, but I still think that if I like anything particularly, our fans will.
I think that if you become a parent, you stop being a child, and your position in relation to your parents changes.
Sometimes I'll get to the end of a song, open my eyes and there's all these faces peering at me. It's quite horrifying.