I became an adult in an extreme way. I was recently sorting some old photographs and I found another.

I don’t think of death in a romantic way anymore.

When we started I wasn’t the singer. I was the drunk rhythm guitarist who wrote all these weird songs.

I could write songs as bad as Wham’s if I really felt the urge to, but what’s the point?

Refusing to grow up is like refusing to accept your limitations. That’s why I don’t think we’ll ever grow up.

I think the rock’n’roll myth of living on the edge is a pile of crap.

I’d rather spend my time looking at the sky than listening to Whitney Houston.

I honestly don’t class myself as a songwriter. I’ve got ‘musician’ written on my passport. That’s even funnier.

I wouldn’t want to think people doted on us, hung on every word, or wanted to look like us.

If any of our songs ever did make it on the top ten, I’d disband the group immediately.

You know, the Internets made us more aware of what people think about us.

I do a job I really, really love and I kind of have fun with. People think you can’t be grown up unless you’re moaning about your job.

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.

You can’t drink on an eight hour flight, pass out, and then go onstage… well you can, but then you’re Spandau Ballet.

There’s no hope of me becoming completely relaxed on stage. If I did, I’d sit down and doze off.

I’m not going to worry about the Cure slipping down into the second division; it doesn’t bother me because I never expected to be in the first division anyway.

You don’t really know a song until you play it live.

Each time I play a song it seems more real.

Nobody notices me. Nobody thinks I’m me. But then I look less like me than most of the people coming to our concerts.

Like I can’t cry for myself so I will let this song take all of the things inside I can’t let anyone else see and offer it up, as if the sound were some kind of god, and my pain is some kind of sacrifice.

No, come to think of it, I don’t think the Cure will end, but I can make up an ending if you want me to.

I became an adult in an extreme way. I was recently sorting some old photographs and I found another.

They may not like us, but they can’t get away from knowing who we are.

I never answer if someone knocks on my door and only the band and my manager have my phone number. In any case my phone doesn’t ring so I never notice it. I occasionally just walk past and pick it up to see if anyone’s there.

But everyone I know reaches a point where they throw out their arms and go beserk for a while; otherwise you never know what your limits are. I was just trying to find mine.

I hardly ever listen to any of our old stuff now. Once the songs have been recorded and put on to vinyl they become someone else’s entertainment, not mine.

I’ve always spent more time with a smile on my face than not, but the thing is, I don’t write about it.