I’ve been broody since I was only one-year-old. My biological clock started ticking almost straight away. Growing up in England I’ve lost a bit of my Greek-Cypriot essence, but it’s there in my obsessive use of lemon and olive oil, and in my desire to be a father from an early age.No matter how shit things are, salvation could be around the corner. My dad grew up in a village with no money, no shoes. He was sent to the UK aged 12 without knowing where he was going or being able to speak English. He lived on the street for a few months until he heard a Greek voice. That Greek family took him into their kitchen and let him wash up for his lodgings. By 18, he was a proper chef in posh central London restaurants. I’m very proud of him for that. It taught me an important lesson.My mum’s responsible for my capacity to love. My dad’s responsible for the way I dress salad.
Crisps are the sensory soundtrack of childhood. The noise of crisp-crunching, the oiliness of crisps, the smell of them. As a kid, you’re never more than five minutes away from asking if you can have some crisps. Even if you know the answer’s going to be no.
My Baftas are parcel-taped up in a box. I won three for Stath Lets Flats, but I put them away while I was writing the new series, so they didn’t stare at me and keep me up at night. I’ll unveil them to myself again soon, it’ll be a nice reunion.
Brined stuff is my guilty pleasure. I’d let the rest of the world go without gherkins if it meant I could have them all.
If I could go back in time, I’d go to the early noughties. Just to soak up the feeling of not knowing what social media is. I’d listen to R&B Hits 2002 and enjoy having no idea what everyone I know is up to.
Slugs are mad. I can’t be doing with them existing in the same universe as me.
I prepare conversations in my head before a social interaction. It’s my worst habit. I clearly haven’t done it here, which is a good sign.
There’s a real feeling of adult achievement about choosing your own bedtime. Or watching TV when you want. Or putting things in your supermarket trolley without asking permission. That’s the stuff of childhood dreams.
A stranger died in my arms three weeks ago. That was a new and very sad experience. In east London, me and my girlfriend saw what we thought was someone who’d had a few too many, sitting by the road. Everyone was giving him a wide berth as he looked hammered. We went over to check he was all right and saw he was struggling for air. My girlfriend called an ambulance. I ended up doing CPR on him for 20 minutes. We later found out he’d died of a cardiac arrest.
Success has made me busier, but it hasn’t changed me. I’ve managed to hold on to the five fundamental components of my personality: scared, salad, tall, talks too passionately about things I’m not sure I believe in, big bum.
All episodes of Stath Lets Flats are now available on All 4