I was followed by a mob of fans when I was doing a photoshoot in Paris. When I signed autographs for them during a break, one remarked: “Who the fuck is Harlan Coben? I told you it wasn’t Bruce Willis.”

At a fashion show after-party in New York in 2004, my friend dared me to push her into the pool. I did, and you’ve never heard laughter die so quickly.

Gloria Hunniford’s wedding at Hever Castle 20-odd years ago. We had a lovely buffet and a few drinks and then I had to get a cab back to the train station. I said to the driver: “I’m ever so sorry, but I’m not going to be able to hang on till I get to the train. Could you possibly take me down this alleyway?” He said: “Yes, of course.” As I prepared myself to go “to the ladies”, this police car came along and the policeman said: “Hi-de-Hi!”

I was in Kensington Gardens and this couple stopped me and said: “Hey, could we get a picture? I said: “Sure.” I put my arms around their shoulders, and they looked at me and said: “No, can you take a picture of us?”

Twice I should have died in car accidents when both my cars were written off. I was completely unhurt; the cello was completely unhurt, too. A complete miracle.

A detective, a train driver on the underground and Leyton Orient’s centre forward.

Frightening, exhilarating and all-consuming.

Our beautiful cat was so ill that we were hours away from having her put down. Somehow, we’ve managed to nurse her back to full health again.

Seeing Leyton Orient in the premiership.

When I was 16, I’d just won full scholarships to both the Royal Academy and the Royal College of Music, and felt like the world was my oyster.