I play Classic FM in the car – emotional music brings me to tears thinking about people I’ve loved and lost.

Two days ago, at a family wedding, remembering Richard, my cousin. He was 11 months younger than me and we were brought up like brother and sister for the first four years of our lives. He died of a brain tumour when he was 55.

I cry all the time. The last time was at the end of Paddington 2. Shirlie was laughing her head off.

On stage at the Brixton Academy on the third night of the residency I did there. I walked out and could not stop crying, some sort of mad relief that it’s all paid off and it’s all been worth it.

I started stammering badly the first time I was on live radio, on Woman’s Hour on Radio 4. When I think about it now it brings me out in a cold sweat.

Interrupting or talking over people. As a stammerer, I am particularly alert to this.

How long have you got? I have written a memoir and the subtitle is Seventeen Brushes with Death.

Darnella Frazier, the teenager who filmed George Floyd’s murder. It took astonishing courage to stand on the pavement in front of those policemen, and we all owe her so much.

“You’ll never walk again.” This was when I was eight or nine and recovering from viral encephalitis.

Last summer, swimming in a waterfall in Cumbria with my daughters.