I'm an old man. A big weekend for me is Home Depot and a Caesar salad.

After I signed for Man City, the people back home in Brazil congratulated me for signing for one of the top teams.

Mustafa Ali's one of my buddies man, and every so often, he would get home. He would invite me over. We know a couple of people around town.

I'm Jamaican, man. I'm Jamaican first. You gotta understand that's where I'm from. That's home. That you can never take away from me. I'm a Jamaican-born Canadian sprinter.

It's crazy how Tech N9ne was back home in L.A. He knew about my situation, what I was doing, trying to find other labels. He used to always call. 'Let me know what's up, man. We got room for you over here.' We appreciated it.

But now, being a parent, I go home and see my son and I forget about any mistake I ever made or the reason I'm upset. I get home and my son is smiling or he comes running to me. It has just made me grow as an individual and grow as a man.

Let me start with a confession: I don't enjoy cooking. The reason I usually do it at home is not because I'm a New Man or Jamie Oliver disciple, but because my wife's cooking is so bad. In fact, to me, cooking is less a pleasurable pastime than a defense against poisoning.

My grandad was the most wonderful man. He was a bit like me. He was basically a country bumpkin but he did well; he became managing director of quite a successful company but all he really wanted to do was to come home, put his disgusting old trampy clothes on and go for walks across the country.

It's either, like, 'Your album was the first jazz album I listened to,' or, like, 'My friend took me to this show, and I've never been to a jazz show before, but, man, I'm so happy I came. I can't wait to go home and see more.' And you can feel it in the crowd, too. You can see the groups of people that don't really know what to expect.

Share This Page