Doing the bins while working for McDonald’s in west Ealing.

I worked in the largest pork pie factory in Europe. I had a plastic mushroom-shaped thing and had to tamp down the meat into the pie base. It was a conveyor belt of pies from nine to five. The worst thing was the crackly AM radio, which was played loudly through the tinny tannoy system. I still can’t listen to I’m Not In Love by 10cc without thinking of raw minced pork.

When I was 15, I conned my way into an office job at a company that represented makers of breast implants. The manager had a wart on the end of her tongue that she’d push against her teeth, making a very specific sound.

Being a cocktail waitress and having to wear a compromising dress in an unwoke 1990s world.

I’m slightly impatient.

John McCarthy, the journalist who was held captive for five years in Beirut. I’ve met him and he was so full of peace, humility and forgiveness – it was inspiring.

Funny, loyal, genuine.

A Porsche 911 Turbo.

I last shed a tear when my nephew, who is under 10, announced that he was learning the trombone. When I was about the same age and wanted to learn the trumpet, a music teacher said: “The trumpet isn’t for you. You’ve got too-thick lips.”

Ignorance and rudeness. Decency and a please and thank you cost nothing.