The Wimpy in Kingston when I was 16. I’d recently become vegetarian, and there weren’t many veggie burgers in 1988.

I was 15 working in Boots on Barnet High Street and it was terrifying. At coffee break you had to know whose cup was whose, and taking the wrong cup was a crime. I’ve met bitches, but I tell you they started out in Boots in Barnet.

Maybe That’s Your Problem, a musical about premature ejaculation. It closed after only 18 performances.

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.

I had a car crash not long after passing my test, driving mates to a club on a Saturday night. Thankfully, everyone was OK – as was my dad about his car, which was a write-off.

As a nice person who always put others before myself. I’d also like my own posthumous tartan.

A pair of Balenciaga boots. They were extortionate, but that has to be at least 10 years ago and I still wear them.

Something that you can’t describe or put in a box. It changes daily and surprises you when you least expect.

Not having my own chatshow. Yet!

Martin Scorsese. I was, let’s say, slightly tactile with him during a Q&A; I was more nervous than I’ve been about anything. I kept tapping his knee, it might even have been bruised by the end.