Clothes, Clothes, Clothes. Music, Music, Music. Boys, Boys, Boys

I love that word. Forever. I love that forever doesn't exist, but we have a word for it anyway, and use it all the time. It's beautiful and doomed.

Language is important: it shapes minds, it can include, exclude, incite, hurt and destroy. If language isn’t powerful, why not call your teacher a cunt?

No matter how silly you feel or uncool you look, no matter how small that voice inside you is, that voice telling you something isn’t right: listen to it.

That’s the trouble with serious illness, and depression, you can’t imagine being well – like on a cold day you can’t imagine warmth – you live in the everlasting dread-filled moment.

Behind every successful woman is a man who tried to stop her. - Graffiti on the wall of the women’s lavatory, the George Tavern, East London

Having periods changed my personality: resentful and angry inside, I felt cheated and knew to the core of my being that life was unfair and boys had it easier than girls. A burning ball of anger and rebelliousness started to grow within me.

I hear a phone ringing through the thick fuzzy air. It's Thunders, asking me to join the Heartbreakers. He says to come over to the rehearsal studios right now. I’m scared but I go anyway. That should be written on my gravestone. She was scared. But she went anyway.

… maybe you can tell how much pain someone is in by watching them laugh.

I think most people in long marriages have a touch of Stockholm Syndrome

I’m too outspoken for most people, they think you’re rude if you tell the truth. ‘Punk’ was the only time I fitted in. Just one tiny sliver of time where it was acceptable to say what you thought.

Skinny as Mum was, she'd always had a good appetite, so when she couldn't eat her roast potatoes I knew the end must be nigh. [...] We opened our presents and Mum put a polka-dot shower cap on her head and let us take pictures of her in it, which was most unlike her, she liked to be a bit dignified about things. This was another indication that she knew she was dying. Other signs to look out for are when an elderly person starts giving away their things – usually about two or three years before they die – and if they insist, rather aggressively, on returning anything they've borrowed or get annoyed if you give them gifts – they don't want any more clutter.

I think there’s something very healthy about keeping your own cave clean. It is a good barometer of how your life is going, the state of your home. If it’s a complete tip, you’re taking on too much or depressed; if someone else has to keep it clean for you, it’s too big or you’re too busy.

I can't imagine what a happy home is like: parents cuddling and laughing, music playing, books on the shelves, discussions round the table? We don’t have any of that, but if Mum’s happy, I’m happy.

To sort out a parent’s death is bad enough, but in a foreign country, in a foreign language, it’s daunting. But there’s no one else to do it – my sister lives on the other side of the world – so I take it one step at a time, put one foot in front of the other, and get on with it. If I actually thought about what was ahead, I would panic.

I can’t stand up in front of people and play and sing. I would rather die. Remember, Viv, the Year of Saying Yes. So what if I die? So what if I’m crap and make a fool of myself? I know that no one ever does anything or gets anywhere without failure and foolishness. I’ve got to do it. Nelson has made me an offer I can’t refuse, the bugger.

At last there is an unknown element back in my life. This is how it used to be. This is how I used to do things before the eighties and jobs and money and careers and Thatcher and marriage and mortgages. I was spontaneous, free, even reckless. Things often didn’t work out, but I felt alive. Painfully alive. For the last few years I’ve been feeling painfully dead. That drive, that lust for life that everyone expects you to have after surviving cancer, well it took ten years to arrive, but here it is. I don’t care what anyone thinks of me any more, I’m going to live life to the full, starting with New York.

I feel more confident with the posh mums. I’ve found someone who gets me. It’s OK that I don’t fit in here, I fit in somewhere else, so I can relax. I’m not mad, I’m not wrong, I’m just not in the right environment.

I also realized I was right to trust my instincts. No matter how silly you feel or uncool you look, no matter how small that voice inside you is, that voice telling you something isn’t right: listen to it. [After the incident with guys inviting them to a party where Ari got rapped and Viv had gone home because the party didn’t feel right].

[On Vivienne Westwood] Vivienne’s scary, for the reason any truthful, plain-talking person is scary – she exposes you. If you haven’t been honest with yourself, this makes you feel extremely uncomfortable, and if you are a con merchant the game is up. She's uncompromising in every way: what she says, what she stands for, what she expects from you and how she dresses. She's direct and judgmental with a strong northern accent that accentuates her sincerity. She has a confidence I haven't seen in any other woman. She’s strong, opinionated and smart. She can’t beat complacency. She’s the most inspiring person I’ve ever met. Sid told me, ‘Vivienne says you’re talented but last.’ I’ve worked at everything twice as hard since he said that.

I ignore him. I never look at him or speak to him and change my phone number. It’s the only way to deal with an obsessive.

Shitting and bleeding. Always had a problem with shit and blood. The English love to talk about shitting, so other nationalities can skip this bit.

Anyone who writes an autobiography is either a twat or broke. I’m a bit of both.

I think of it as saying Yes to Nothing. If your choice is either the wrong thing or nothing, however frightened you are, you’ve got to take nothing. Haven’t you? Hasn’t everyone? No husband, no lover, no band, no money, no confidence. Here goes nothing.

For those in a hurry … Sex references: here, here, here, here, here, here Drugs references: here, here, here, here Punk rock references: here, here, here, here, here

I’ve noticed a pattern forming in my life, it happens every time something doesn’t work out – a friendship, the New Slits, my marriage – if I have the courage to walk away from it rather than stay and cling on for fear of the unknown future, it seems to take from four to six months at the very most for something even better to manifest in front of me. I think of it as saying Yes to Nothing. If your choice is either the wrong thing or nothing, however frightened you are, you’ve got to take nothing. Haven’t you? Hasn’t everyone?

The two most important men in my life want me to deny who I am. As if it’s shameful.

Ari [Up] was an artist and an artist needs love more than anyone, she needed loads, but I don’t know if she got enough on a one-to-one level. Everything came second to her music, even family. You have to be selfish to be an artist; your family just have to accept that. It’s not personal, it’s not that you don’t love them. What an artist gives their family isn’t routine and their constant presence, they give vitality and ideas, independence and creative thinking.

I decide I’ll just have to be myself. I’m sick of pretending anyway – of policing my words and editing my thoughts. Husband never wants me to talk about the Slits or my ceramics or make rude jokes, I’m losing every ounce of the person I used to be. I know she wasn’t all good, but she wasn’t all bad either. I’m not going to pretend to be something I’m not for this bloke who lives miles away across the sea. I’m not going to try and be nice and seductive for him. There are so many people in my life that I’m putting on a front for, I don’t need one more. If he doesn’t like me for who I am, forget it.

I’ve earned my own money since I was seventeen years old, motherhood is a huge shift in freedom and status. No one ever says, You’re good at this, well done. No one pays you. If you fuck up and drop the baby, then you’ll get some attention, but if you keep your head down and do a ‘good enough’ job, you’re ignored.