Losing my mind.

I don’t want to get into an early death spiral, when you’re scaling down your life unnecessarily because you’ve already been there or done that. I never want to stop adventuring.

I cry a lot because I miss people. I cry a lot because they die and I can't stop them. They leave me and I love them more. ... And so it's what I dread more than anything is the isolation.

Losing my eyesight – I live for the view, and the sunset and the sunrise.

My problem with clothes. I’ve got an issue, haven’t I? I’m not a fella in a band who can turn up in his T-shirt and jeans. I’ve got the whole drama of what I’m going to wear: the hair, the makeup. All that preening and pruning that adds to the stress. I have begun to hate that perfectionist in me.

When I was a teenager, I worked in a vegetable shop on Saturdays, and the guy had a rotation of 10 pretty teenagers working for him and was really sleazy. I only went twice because the second time he made me go up to his flat above the shop and clean his toilet, and he was watching me.

I recently had a dramatic fall on stage in Hungary. It was a massive stage – I was miles away from the audience – and I didn’t expect there to be two monitors in the middle of it. I went completely arse over tit and landed on my chin. First, I felt shock, pain, embarrassment, and then I felt lucky that I didn’t break any teeth or bite through my tongue. I asked for an ice pack for my chin, got up and finished the set.

Last week, because of an ear infection: I cried my eyes out when they put a big injection into my arse.

My car. I don’t even drive, but I bought a Toyota hybrid for my assistant.