I was in Kensington Gardens and this couple stopped me and said: “Hey, could we get a picture? I said: “Sure.” I put my arms around their shoulders, and they looked at me and said: “No, can you take a picture of us?”

I was in Oliver! when I was 10 and I peed myself on stage in front of however many people the Palladium holds. It was the stuff of nightmares.

Bumping into my male boss at a nudist beach.

Shitting myself in New York last November. I was wearing cream trousers. We were going to see my son Matty and his band, the 1975, at Madison Square Garden, and I was walking through the streets, enjoying the sunshine, pretending I was in some kind of video – throwing my hat into the New York sky like Mary Tyler Moore. I saw a couple of people turn and look at me. Now, although I’m not famous in New York, whenever Matty’s there I do get recognised as his mum, so I’m smiling and waving at them. I went back to the hotel room and bent over to get something out of the suitcase, and my husband said: “Do you realise you’ve shat yourself?”

Minding not being liked.

I’ve always been frightened of the dark. I sometimes wonder whether it stems from being away filming from the age of five. I can remember being devastatingly homesick and having a little nightlight I used to look at to reassure myself things were all right.

Doing an episode of Doctors was a bit of a nadir.

The amazing women standing up against the Taliban.

Mental cruelty.

Not to take anything for granted.