In my 40s: I had two children young enough to think their parents wonderful, my business was booming, I was happily married and living in the Cotswolds with a veg garden and ponies in the paddock. Who could not be happy?

My student days at Cambridge.

When I was under contract to Universal Pictures in 1959, just before I got my role on Riverboat.

In the hospital giving birth to my second daughter with my first daughter right there in the room as it was happening. I don’t remember any pain. I just remember feeling more alive and full of fierce mama bear love than at any other point in my life.

It’s like digging a field together: it’s hard work, not very glamorous, but you can stand back and think, “We did that.”

Romantic love – what a con. (I do still believe in it.)

In my first job in film, a giant bloke dressed like a sumo wrestler asked me to get his G-string out of his arse. He said he couldn’t reach it.

I had no female role models growing up. I lived an incredibly sheltered life: there was no TV at home and we had no visitors. It wasn’t until rock and pop came into my life that I concocted myself as a role model.

I wish I’d told my mother that, in all the years I knew her, she was never once boring. We weren’t demonstrative, so that would have meant that I loved her.

I am going straight to cremation like David Bowie, so there would be no funeral.