A BMW 6 series convertible. It was smashing.

A black Mercedes 500 coupé in the mid-1980s. I thought it was one of the most beautiful things I’d seen. (I had been clubbing the night before.) And I can’t drive.

A matt grey Range Rover. It’s been rebadged, so instead of Range Rover it says Range Rylan.

A Vivienne Westwood & Burberry two-piece suit I bought for a press night. At the time I was: “Yeah, of course I’m going to be a 30-inch waist for the rest of my life.” Now the trousers don’t fit.

I’ve been in six car accidents – none of them while I was driving.

Two days as a labourer in my 15th summer.

The public mistakes I’ve made. Most recently, I tried to light an e-cigarette on an aeroplane and was told to put it out. I completely forgot I was on a plane. I’d had, like, three drinks, but it only takes three. I stopped as soon as I got off and I got straight back into my programme, because that’s what I do.

Relapsing. I usually spend eight, nine, 10 months sober, then I’ll spend a day relapsing and I get disappointed. But it never lasts too long. I get back up and try again.

Wanting to be better: a better actor, a better father.

An incredibly long one – maybe the entire St Matthew Passion – just so everybody would have to sit in the church for hours.