Appearing on a Paris catwalk in a beard.

The idiocy of going to Skye from New Zealand in April 2020. All of a sudden, I’m turning on the news and hearing myself as an item. I have never been more mortified.

When I was 11, I went down a water slide and my bottoms didn’t go with me. Everyone saw my bare white butt.

Putting chocolate mousse in my agent’s face. Somebody had done it to me – that thing where they go, “Smell this, it smells funny”, and then they put it in your nose. A year later I was in this French restaurant with a very 1980s-style dessert trolley and, before I knew it, I had a bowl of chocolate mousse in front of me. And my agent went, “What’s that smell?”, and it felt impossible not to … I immediately felt awful and tried to apologise. He, of course, said that he found it funny. But I knew he didn’t.

I can be horribly smug and conceited, and yet always in the back of my mind is the thought that things could go terribly wrong at any moment.

Three mature palm trees. We restored a property in Italy that had been derelict and I needed to make it look established as quickly as I could.

Aggression. Anger. Rudeness. Intolerance. Lack of understanding. Pretty much your average day on X.

I’m a classic remoaner.

All the kids I didn’t reply to who’ve written lovely letters about my books.

Middle-class wanker.