One can never be sure whether a very early memory is a real memory or just the recollection of something which you were told happened.

When I was three, my father was three. When I was six, he was six... he needed me to escape from being 50.

My father did not drink beer. He said he didn't like the taste, and I was prepared to accept that I wouldn't like the taste either. So I stuck to bottled cider.

In pessimistic moments, when I was trudging London in search of an employer wanting to make use of such talents as I could offer, it seemed to me, almost, that my father had got to where he was by climbing upon my infant shoulders, that he had filched from me my good name and had left me with nothing but the empty fame of being his son.

When my twin grandchildren, Linda and Lyeke, were born two years ago, it changed me. I felt it was the essence of what life is about, and I cried all day. When my son Pierre, their father, was born I didn't cry like that.

I've always wanted to work in entertainment. My family moved to Orlando when I was 15 so I could make it.

What I've learned from my own journey, and from my family's experience with cancer, is how important it is to stay positive and move forward. Not every day is going to be perfect; that's life. But staying positive is going to get you to the next day.

Sixty per cent of how you act is drawn from memories. And it's about who you are. I am a son, brother, husband, father, and caretaker. You connect with certain instances and emotions.