Where to begin? How about working the archery range at the Sportsman’s Show in 1956? “The pointy part of the arrow goes at the front.” Or going door-to-door in 1963, when I was a questionnaire re-writer for a market research company, asking a 36-page questionnaire about bowel movements for a laxative company. “No one is going to answer 36 pages on that!” I bleated. “They’ll kick me out after three pages!” “Ah, but those who don’t,” they said – “those are our target market!”

Reading the news. It’s a dull job.

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.

On a cosmetics production line. I walked out after half a day.

Fear, anxiety and panic attacks.

A bee in my bonnet – whether that’s a song in my head or a person I’m thinking about.

A partner – finding her and enjoying the rest of our lives together. Hopefully it will happen one day.

I bought a sports car over 20 years ago and still have it. She’s a black Z8 BMW. I love her: she’s my pride and joy.

A steam train driver.

For being one of the good guys.