Nobody has ever accused me of being a superior communicator. If I could have conveyed to the American people the concerns I had, and my heartbeat, a little more clearly, maybe I would not be unemployed and retired. And I might not be this happy, either. I learned a lot from Ronald Reagan about communication. Never got to be in his league in terms of it, but he could say something and the American people might not agree with the issue, but they could empathize with him.

I’m disorganized.

Standing up while eating.

I’d rather name one for someone else. I’m egomaniacal.

My car. I don’t even drive, but I bought a Toyota hybrid for my assistant.

The fact that I smoke.

I recently had a dramatic fall on stage in Hungary. It was a massive stage – I was miles away from the audience – and I didn’t expect there to be two monitors in the middle of it. I went completely arse over tit and landed on my chin. First, I felt shock, pain, embarrassment, and then I felt lucky that I didn’t break any teeth or bite through my tongue. I asked for an ice pack for my chin, got up and finished the set.

Last week, because of an ear infection: I cried my eyes out when they put a big injection into my arse.

When I was a teenager, I worked in a vegetable shop on Saturdays, and the guy had a rotation of 10 pretty teenagers working for him and was really sleazy. I only went twice because the second time he made me go up to his flat above the shop and clean his toilet, and he was watching me.