Thirty-odd years ago I bought a black pinstripe suit which I thought was £900. But when I went to pay that was just the jacket – the trousers and waistcoat were extra. I didn’t have the balls to put anything back. I dread to think how much it cost me in the end.

I spent £600 on Rudolf Nureyev’s ballet shoes after he died. He was the biggest idol in my life and influenced me hugely.

I went overboard on the money I invested in the production of Allegiance. It did not return, but it was fulfilling that I was able to tell a story that’s dear.

A Tiffany watch for my wife. The security guard was following us, so I deliberately bought a really expensive watch to prove we had money. I don’t think I’ve seen her wear it.

I am crucified by my modesty: it’s terrible.

Other people’s decorating, if I feel they’ve missed an opportunity and just decorated in that wet-cardboard, modern-grey thing. That’s a life not properly lived.

The missus. She is the glamour mamma mia at the top of our feudal pyramid. We all live together, so she’s a full-time grandmother and rules the roost. How she steered us through lockdown was extraordinary.

I was nearly hit by an enormous gold-fibreglass cherub in a shopping centre. It fell five storeys and smashed into a thousand pieces about 4ft away from me.

This is going to horribly upset my wife, my children and my grandchildren, but it was when I did The Greatest Snowman last year for Channel 4. Being let loose on an Austrian mountainside to build snow sculptures was my happy point, and who knew I’d find an icy G-spot at nearly 58.