I decided I wanted a red convertible Jaguar, because I thought I would look the bee’s knees in it. The first time I drove it with the top down, it scared the shit out of me. After that, I only bought “mom” cars.

A horse. I have two: Vesperal Dream and According To Sarah.

A beautiful, sequined dress for a showbiz function. It was pushing £1,850.

A business-class flight. Pure indulgence.

My mother and my brother would still be alive. So much of my life has been coping with the grief of losing them.

At a fashion show after-party in New York in 2004, my friend dared me to push her into the pool. I did, and you’ve never heard laughter die so quickly.

People who can’t hear other points of view. Absolute certainty always scares me a little.

When I was about 18, I worked on the chicken counter in a large supermarket, and every morning I had to pierce 64 birds on to industrial skewers to load up the rotisserie. That was very grim.

To my younger self. I was incredibly self-loathing and self-doubting, and I’m still undoing that damage 30 years later.

The summer of 1997. My husband, who is an American, gave up everything to come and live with me in Edinburgh when we were students, and we were so skint but we had so much fun.