Shitting myself in New York last November. I was wearing cream trousers. We were going to see my son Matty and his band, the 1975, at Madison Square Garden, and I was walking through the streets, enjoying the sunshine, pretending I was in some kind of video – throwing my hat into the New York sky like Mary Tyler Moore. I saw a couple of people turn and look at me. Now, although I’m not famous in New York, whenever Matty’s there I do get recognised as his mum, so I’m smiling and waving at them. I went back to the hotel room and bent over to get something out of the suitcase, and my husband said: “Do you realise you’ve shat yourself?”

In my 20s I was in a show called The Unauthorised Autobiography of Samantha Brown. The actor who played my dad messed up his lines and it made me laugh so hard that I ended up peeing my pants.

Having somebody pull my judo trousers down at a competition when I was seven. And finding I wasn’t wearing any pants.

When I was starting out, in the early 90s, I had to fake an orgasm in a room full of male ad execs at an audition for a chocolate bar ad. It was grim.

Faith-filled, never-give-up man.

It’s all a gift. So be grateful for every day.

Caring too much about what others think.

An apocalypse escape vessel – a steel hull ice-capable sailing boat for all the family that has almost zero electronics and is manual operation throughout – armed with an array of weaponry.

Light of the Almighty in my heart.

Too controlling about silly things like timings or not having toxic cleaning products in the house.