Eight or nine years ago, I disgraced myself in the Japanese ambassador’s home in Dublin, at a celebration for my late mother-in-law’s book about living in Japan. Afterwards, when I had to apologise, she told me it was the worst night of her life and, because I was drunk enough not to remember the details, it will never not be the most embarrassing night of my life. People are filling in details even now – “Remember when you fell under the table during the first course?”

I was doing The Seagull with Carey Mulligan and Kristin Scott Thomas on Broadway. I walked out on stage and looked at Carey and said: “I’ve no idea what to say.” It was pretty deep into the run and it took me by surprise.

It was a small gig and I was doing Three Minute Hero, which has a long, held note at the end, and I fell off the stage.

In order to raise money to pay for myself to go to the National Youth Theatre, I performed a medley of my drama school speeches and some songs for my entire school. Considering I can’t sing, this was terrible. I did U Remind Me by Usher and Hey There Delilah by the Plain White T’s. They paid £2 each – basically, to laugh at me.

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.

The fact that I smoke.

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

My problem with clothes. I’ve got an issue, haven’t I? I’m not a fella in a band who can turn up in his T-shirt and jeans. I’ve got the whole drama of what I’m going to wear: the hair, the makeup. All that preening and pruning that adds to the stress. I have begun to hate that perfectionist in me.

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