I Don't Feel My Son Should Pay

I Suppose That Anyone Who Does Any Kind Of Creative Work Some Time In Their Life - Especially As You Grow Into Middle Age! - You Come To A Time Where You Really Question More And More Frequently, Whether You Have Anything Else To Offer. And At Its Worst, You Feel Utterly Bereft Of Whatever Creative Force It Takes To Do That Work.

One Of The Great Privileges Of Having Grown Up In A Middle-class Literary English Household, But Having Gone To School In The Front Lines In Southeast London, Was That I Became Half-street-urchin And Half-good-boy At Home. I Knew That Dichotomy Was Possible.

The Greater Your Powers Of Self-delusion, The Greater Will Be The Apparent Efficacy Of This Untruth.

I Avoid Talking About The Way I Work. But In Avoiding It I Seem Only To Have Encouraged People To Focus Their Fantasies About Me In An Ever More Fantastical Way On The Details That Are Not At All At The Centre Of The Work.

Leaving A Role Is A Terrible Sadness. The Last Day Of The Shooting Is Surreal. Your Soul, Your Body And Your Mind Are Not Ready At All To See The End Of This Experience. In The Following Months After A Film Shoot, One Feels A Deep Sense Of Void.