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My grandmother made sure that I went to church every Sunday. And she'd come over and pick us boys up, and we would go to the Nazarene church. And back then, that was about as close to heaven as I ever got, because just the time to be able to spend with her, and she was very, very religious.

My granny was very concerned that we weren't baptised - Mum had been desperate to escape her own Catholic upbringing. But Granny thought we were blighted. Whenever we turned up at her house, she would flick holy water - from the font she kept by the door - over us, in the hope that it would save us from damnation.

I went to church with my grandparents sometimes and I loved it.

There's this idea that when you turn 40, you automatically go to adult contemporary heaven, but I want to try and challenge that.

My grandparents went through a bad experience themselves; they invested money in a church and got burned - the pastor had his own agenda - and my grandfather lost interest in the church after that. That was when I had the option to not go. 'Grandpa ain't going; I'm gonna stay with Grandpa.'

My mother was very agnostic. She would never set foot in the synagogue, she couldn't be doing with it.

My grandparents knew it was important that I understood Christianity and the Bible. But they never took me to church; they sent me to church.

My wife is already in Heaven.

If I start going back to church, I'd have to stop the smoking and drinking, and I wouldn't be able to curse any more.

What in heaven's name is strange about a grandmother dancing nude? I'll bet lots of grandmothers do it.