When you grow up in a place (whether as a child or an adult) you squeeze everything out of it. You need so much when you're young.

There may be something universal about idealizing the past, but I think it's taken to an absurd degree in New York, which is what I'm poking fun at. The hole-in-the-wall bars I went to in the 90s that smelled like sewage now enjoy legendary status, as if times were had there that could never be had anywhere else.

I enjoy the fact that, as a gay man, there's relatively little pressure on me to act like a grown-up, but also I see the pitfalls that we're susceptible to, addiction, isolation, loneliness, mental illness, not to mention the embarrassing fashion choices.

I've always written stories from female perspectives. That it's one of the reasons I write, to have that experience.

Maybe the most interesting thing gay writers can do is show the tension between the breadth of gay experiences and the unity of what they have in common.

London is like a collection of hills. There are lots of desirable spots and lots of space in between. The idea of elbowing people out of your way to get somewhere - literally or metaphorically - seems foreign here.