Right after 9/11, Kenny and I went to perform for the troops in Pakistan and Uzbekistan. As we were flying in, an electronic voice went off: “Warning: missile launch! Warning: missile launch!” The Taliban had fired a rocket at us. I was waiting to see the back of the plane blow up, but it didn’t and we landed.

I hit a bit of lumpy tarmac driving my motorbike over the Pyrenees in the early 1980s. There was no safety barrier and I found myself riding along the edge of a precipice on half the width of the tyres for 100 yards.

Travelling Europe with a friend, when I was 29. She was driving and the brakes went, on one of those vertiginous Italian mountains. It was terrifying for the 20 minutes it took to coast down the mountain.

A death threat at Glastonbury festival in 1989. The police told me not to go on, but I said I had to because I was headlining. So I wore a bullet-proof vest. It seemed unlikely that I would be assassinated, but it was shocking and very stressful.

Retaining my sense of self in an insecure job.

I never said it out loud, but I had this “Why aren’t you like the other mums?” energy towards my mum. Now I am an adult, I am happy that she came here from Ghana and remained who she was, but for a long time I resented her.

Better bike lanes in London.

When I was 11 and we got Sky TV.

Run to the Sun by NERD. I’ve always loved that song. People always think that Pharrell [Williams] wrote it about a lover but it was about his grandmother, who passed away. My brother was a massive NERD fan – he got me into them and there’s something so pure and loving about that song. I want my funeral to be a joyous occasion, I want people to rave and to wear bright colours. But for the moment of reflection, I want that song.