My hybrid car. Not glamorous, not fast, but indispensable.

A very expensive dehydrator (it cost £30). I’ve made raisins, banana chips and apple chips with it so far. It’s so addictive, I’ll probably start drying my kids soon.

My half-electric Volvo.

A designer green jacket from Selfridges I bought in my 20s for £700, a ridiculous amount of money. My family and friends said I looked like a peace activist and I never wore it again.

The missus. She is the glamour mamma mia at the top of our feudal pyramid. We all live together, so she’s a full-time grandmother and rules the roost. How she steered us through lockdown was extraordinary.

I am crucified by my modesty: it’s terrible.

Other people’s decorating, if I feel they’ve missed an opportunity and just decorated in that wet-cardboard, modern-grey thing. That’s a life not properly lived.

I was nearly hit by an enormous gold-fibreglass cherub in a shopping centre. It fell five storeys and smashed into a thousand pieces about 4ft away from me.

This is going to horribly upset my wife, my children and my grandchildren, but it was when I did The Greatest Snowman last year for Channel 4. Being let loose on an Austrian mountainside to build snow sculptures was my happy point, and who knew I’d find an icy G-spot at nearly 58.