Shitting myself in New York last November. I was wearing cream trousers. We were going to see my son Matty and his band, the 1975, at Madison Square Garden, and I was walking through the streets, enjoying the sunshine, pretending I was in some kind of video – throwing my hat into the New York sky like Mary Tyler Moore. I saw a couple of people turn and look at me. Now, although I’m not famous in New York, whenever Matty’s there I do get recognised as his mum, so I’m smiling and waving at them. I went back to the hotel room and bent over to get something out of the suitcase, and my husband said: “Do you realise you’ve shat yourself?”

Holding the hand of some random lady at an airport who I mistook for my wife, Shara.

When I concentrate, I put my thumb in my mouth. I once did it during a really important meeting when asked a question I didn’t know the answer to. When I left the meeting my friend said: “What did you put your thumb in your mouth for?” I didn’t know I’d done it.

The Radio 1 breakfast show was an embarrassing moment that lasted for nine months.

Nothing. I’m curious how things will evolve.

I cry every day. Sometimes out of frustration. I do grieve my mum, so I allow the grief to sit until it’s not there any more.

Ignorance and unwillingness to learn.

When I was younger, I signed up to a job agency and thought I would be doing secretarial work, but they assigned me to clean toilets in a factory in Oldham.

A piece of scenery fell on my head during Richard II at the Globe theatre in 2019. I was very badly hurt.

If somebody doesn’t want to understand or see you that’s on them. You don’t have to carry that with you.