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.

Putting chocolate mousse in my agent’s face. Somebody had done it to me – that thing where they go, “Smell this, it smells funny”, and then they put it in your nose. A year later I was in this French restaurant with a very 1980s-style dessert trolley and, before I knew it, I had a bowl of chocolate mousse in front of me. And my agent went, “What’s that smell?”, and it felt impossible not to … I immediately felt awful and tried to apologise. He, of course, said that he found it funny. But I knew he didn’t.

The Fake Sheikh did a sting on me once and the News of the World headline was “Craig Charles is an evil drug-pushing monster”. That wasn’t good on the school run, I’ll tell you that.

I did a corporate gig early in my career, and they opened the buffet in the middle of my set and everybody left.

Being mean online.

My self-criticism.

At the beginning of 2019, I brought my entire family with me on my honeymoon to Bora Bora.

She was a fun, silly girl who wrote positive songs that helped others – and she was a good mama.

My younger self for not believing in her.

Whenever I’m with my kids.