My childhood was utterly chaotic. I was the youngest child of an immigrant family, who made their money taking in sick lodgers who came over from Iran to get medical assistance. My mother was nurse and cook, and my father translator and driver. There were no family holidays, no family meals. And I didn't have a room. I slept in the living-room after everyone had gone to bed. I'd fall asleep on the couch and they'd put a blanket over me while they carried on playing backgammon.
My mother's brother, Iraj, was the relative who had most influence on me. He was an actor who came to it late. He had two lines in Starsky and Hutch and I got very excited. When I met him, aged six, I was really into playing cards and said I'd like to be the Joker – I was trying to tell him about my spiritual thirst for knowledge, but he misunderstood. Every time I said something quirky, he'd say, "Ah, he's going to be a comedian."
My brother, Javid, is seven years older than me and my sister, Roxana, four years older, so I always perceived those two to be close and me to be the odd one out. They were slapped and shouted at for coming home at midnight. I was totally neglected. I used to steal my father's car and was never disciplined. My parents always said, "You were such a good boy." My brother is an estate agent and my sister is a bilingual secretary. They're a bit surprised by my success. It was a given that nothing good would become of the Djalili kids.
I don't think you could have found a child more keen to leave home. When I got into university, I lived by myself in a remote cottage for the first nine months. I just went for walks, read books and taught myself to cook. That was a direct product of having people around 24/7 for the first 19 years of my life. Even now, I love being in the house alone.
My father, Ahmad, is in his mid-80s and is stunned by what I do. He came to a show in Edinburgh, which was packed, and he asked, "Have all these people come to see you?" He'd turn round, wondering why people were laughing. Then he came to see Oliver! and told the whole row that I was his son.
He's a very funny person but never thought you could make a living out of it. When I visit him I'll be lightheaded with laughter from a ridiculous story about how he avoided being beaten up by someone he had pissed off. He has never been straight about anything. I find him very bizarre. My mother, Parvaneh, was also deeply eccentric. She's dead now, but she was very loud and would go to Iranian conferences and heckle the speakers.
My eldest child is a girl, Isabella, who's 16, and I have two boys, Louis, 14, and Danny, 10. I'm much more strict than my parents were, so they have specific bedtimes and activities they do. But there's enough leeway for them to have their own imaginations. I often get disciplined by my children. When Mummy goes away, I say, "Right, I'll get out a few 18-certificate films. Who wants to watch Alien 3?" They tell me that's very irresponsible. My wife, Annabel, has done a very good job with them.
I dreamed that my middle child was a famous stand-up comedian. He's very funny and artistic. My daughter is keen on maths and my little one wants to be a dancer. We've tried to raise them to have ambition. The only bit of advice my father gave me was, "Always express yourself." We were of the Baha'í faith and my parents hoped I would speak on scripture, not be telling knob jokes.
I'm worried that my father has given me a work ethic. The kids complain that they hardly see me, and my wife's not happy about it. I think the plan is to get to a level of success, then choose what you do, so you have quality time together. After Fagin I'm taking the family to the Bahamas for three weeks. We have no family life at the moment. And I don't want it to be like that.
Omid Djalili: Live in London is out now on DVD (Anchor Bay)
