Gloria Hunniford’s wedding at Hever Castle 20-odd years ago. We had a lovely buffet and a few drinks and then I had to get a cab back to the train station. I said to the driver: “I’m ever so sorry, but I’m not going to be able to hang on till I get to the train. Could you possibly take me down this alleyway?” He said: “Yes, of course.” As I prepared myself to go “to the ladies”, this police car came along and the policeman said: “Hi-de-Hi!”

My first holy communion, where my trousers were too big for me and fell down, a circumstance which earned me both the instant contempt of the girls and the heightened interest of the priests. That’s just how it was in 1975.

Eight or nine years ago, I disgraced myself in the Japanese ambassador’s home in Dublin, at a celebration for my late mother-in-law’s book about living in Japan. Afterwards, when I had to apologise, she told me it was the worst night of her life and, because I was drunk enough not to remember the details, it will never not be the most embarrassing night of my life. People are filling in details even now – “Remember when you fell under the table during the first course?”

After the 2012 Olympics I hosted the parade. I had on a little skirt and when the prime minister came on everyone cheered. I thought: “Oh my God, they love David Cameron,” but they were cheering because my skirt had blown up, and I’d flashed my knickers at him.

A sense of home.

For being joyful.

I once had to dress up as [fast food chain] Supermac’s bunny during a St Patrick’s Day parade and shake people’s hands. Kids kept trying to take off my gloves and punching my bunny head. It was awful.

Less phone use.

Oversharing. I long to be intimately connected to people and sometimes, among strangers, I don’t read the room.

Not actualising my full potential.