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If I go to London, everyone wants to talk about Damien Hirst. I'm just not interested in him. Never have been.

However, there's no theme or concept behind Heathen, just a number of songs but somehow there is a thread that runs through it that is quite as strong as any of my thematic type albums.

Nobody's going to say hello to me in the street, really, because there'll be someone a bit more famous coming along the street in a minute. That typifies London, really.

It is eerie being all but alone in Westminster Abbey. Without the tourists, there are only the dead, many of them kings and queens. They speak powerfully and put my thoughts into vivid perspective.

When my phone pops up with Dierks Bentley, I'm like, 'Oh my gosh!! Okay, wait. He's supposed to be, like, my friend. I'm supposed to be cool.'

If you walk through Knightsbridge on any bland day of the week you won't hear an English accent. You'll hear every accent under the sun apart from the British accent.

I remember we woke up one morning at Denny's house and John Phillips called. He said, you guys okay? We said, yeah, what's wrong, what's going on? He said, well, everybody's dead over at Sharon's house at Terry Melcher's place.

My host at Richmond, yesterday morning, could not sufficiently express his surprise that I intended to venture to walk as far as Oxford, and still farther. He however was so kind as to send his son, a clever little boy, to show me the road leading to Windsor.

The phone conversations about a possible TV series of 'Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell' stretch back years, but now that the moment has come, now that I am actually here at Wentworth Woodhouse, I lose my bearings.

Introductions are always weird for me because my name is Hari and it's constantly mispronounced . 'Hurry', 'Hairy' - there are different ways to screw it up, and it leads to these awkward conversations.