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.

Today is a pretty important day. It was August 15th, 2007, when I was told I likely had "three to six months of good health left." Today is six months from that day. Just to prove I'm still alive, here I am, holding today's New York Times! I rode my bike today; the cumulative effects of the chemotherapy are hurting my stamina some, but I bet I can still run a quarter mile faster than most Americans. The doctors weren't wrong; they always said that if the palliative chemo worked, I'd buy more time, but that it was a long shot. And the doctors have done a brilliant job of tweaking my regimen to help my odds. How much longer this will work is hard to know, but I'm going to keep having fun every day I have left, no matter how many or how few of them I get.

We used to have one of those gat guns that shot pellets. My friend pretty much had the thing at point-blank range to my temple. It popped out and completed its trajectory about a millimetre from my head.

Many times on British roads, because I drive very fast. In another life, I would have liked doing Formula One.

Now that I’m at this end of my career, I’m gobsmacked that I’ve managed to cling on for as long as I have.

I called Elizabeth McGovern Elizabeth Montgomery throughout a show. But, bless her, she didn’t say anything.

Back in the day, when comedy was crueller, my monologues were full of terrible jokes about people, and you can’t apologise because then you’re asking people to forgive you. Your punishment is to walk around knowing you said these horrible things.

When I was growing up, my mother would accuse me of showing off. That’s the most shaming, humbling, horrible thing. What was I doing? Showing off!

Impatience married with being very quick to judge.

Our wedding weekend in Ireland.