On stage in Tasmania, I tripped over a floor monitor and landed on my back like a turtle, kicking my legs in the air trying to get back on my feet in front of about 5,000 people. But when I got on my feet, the whole crowd roared in triumph.

When I was a teenager, I laughed at a joke I didn’t understand. Whoever told the joke turned to me and said, “What are you laughing at?” Of course I didn’t know and he obviously knew I didn’t know. It was excruciating.

I once found myself chatting to a big handsome bloke at a party in Oslo. I said, “And what do you do?” “Well,” he said, “I am the king.” Being a great wordsmith, I zinged back, “Oh. Errm. Cool.”

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.

The rest is silence.

At university in the 60s, I thought social justice was going to improve exponentially. How wrong I was.

Edward Bond, the playwright, said I was like a turd flowing on the effluent of British culture.

Isn’t it enough just to be remembered?

Curious, energetic, droll.

Warmth and confidence.