One time I got so drunk in the Soho theatre in London that I fell asleep in the disabled toilet for two hours. People still call the toilet Rosie’s Bedroom.

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?”

Also my most triumphant: 2017 at the Royal Court. Julie Hesmondhalgh reads my psychologist’s report over two hours. Every excruciating intimate word of it. Extreme verbatim theatre. One night only.

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.

Everything’s temporary, and how to make aioli.

I’d be happier being myself younger.

Like nothing’s a problem.

Snobbishness, superiority, condescension.

People singing in the street.

I think we’re definitely gone, but I do think people leave traces everywhere from what they did in life, and live on and continue to make an impact through the ripple effect of that.