I’ve been very fortunate in that respect. In the early days I liked to be the bomb of the expedition, and rush on ahead and do things faster than anybody else. Those days merged very pleasantly into periods when I organized and inspired expeditions and selected these younger people who were then the bombs of the operation. And then it drifted into this involvement with the people of the area, still loving the mountains, but finding the people just as important too. And on and on it’s gone. As I get older and less physically capable, I find other challenges have grown up and become just as important to me.

Younger people being amazed that I know what song they’re listening to.

The inability to do things for myself.

Forgetting things.

The early days of motherhood. We lived in a sweet little bungalow in LA that had a pool. We threw lots of parties. We had a cute dog and a mad Siamese. Trump had never been president, we’d never heard of coronavirus, Claire’s Accessories was still going strong. Good times.

My Siamese cat, which I had freeze-dried after she died. I really think their future partners will like it.

Not winning Celebrity MasterChef. I am still gutted, despite many months of pretending to be fine with it.

Perimenopausal anxiety, the terrible feeling of impending doom, something awful happening to my children, writing deadlines. Apart from that, I’m quite chilled.

My Auntie Jane. She took me in, aged 10, and, after my mother died, healed my broken heart by filling our dining room with food and people. Still cooking at the grand old age of 89. My icon.

When I ruin someone else’s story because I think mine is better, so butt in before they’ve finished theirs.