As a teenager I told my father, “You led us into the camp like sheep to slaughter.” I knew I had hurt him, this man that I loved so much. That’s haunted me all my life.

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.

A little girl called Pat. We were nine-year-olds together and all the class made her life a misery. I knew she wanted to be my friend and I would only be friends with her if nobody else was around. I feel dreadful about that.

To a resistant materials teacher at secondary school called Mr Noel. He had a comb-over and whenever he turned his back to write on the blackboard, we would roll up bits of paper and launch them at his head. Once, I hit him. I remember him turning around and looking crestfallen.

It would improve the quality of all of our lives if we just got rid of all unessential vehicles in New York City.

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.

Caddying for really rich people at this country club in Connecticut when I was a teenager. They would talk like I wasn’t there so I would hear all about their lives, their affairs and their stupidity, and yet I couldn’t say anything.

Losing my mind.

Nurturing, musical, uncompromising.

When I was first acting, in college, a relative came and saw me in Hedda Gabler and she said: “Look in the mirror, you’re not an actor. An actor looks like Mel Gibson.”