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.

When I was 19 I worked at a gay bar while I was at drama school in London. One of the guys I worked with was Glaswegian and I learned the dialect from him. The acting teacher at the school said, “Liev, you’ve got the region but you’ve missed the character entirely” because I played Jimmy Boyle in a very camp Glaswegian accent.

I have a deep-rooted fear of being in trouble. I once tried to sneak into the back of a photography exhibition with my husband when one of our kids was in a pushchair. We’d arrived late and he suggested we go in through the gift shop and see the last room. As we poked our heads round the door, the security guard noticed us. I shouted, “That man’s trying to get in!”, then ran away.

Bumping into my male boss at a nudist beach.

I lived in Cape Town, and I was spotted on the street and signed up by a modelling agency. I did about three shoots before I realised I hate having my photograph taken and I like food.

Scruffy, infuriating and kind.

The first time I stood on top of the hill that I now live on, in 2007.

A brilliant hi-tech, low weight tent.

I wanted to be in the circus.

“We’d love you to be on the cover of our magazine and we’ll give you a makeover.”