Our campervan. It’s fully kitted out, sleeps four and lowers down, so we can get in and out easily.

I spend most money on my garden.

My car, a dilapidated old Jag.

A Matisse and my Leica camera.

The second agent I had said: “The thing is, you look like something but then you open your mouth.” So I got myself a sketch show and left, and she lost out.

My kids navigating the world as it is today – and daddy longlegs.

She was surprisingly good at the harpsichord.

Growing three brains.

I think I had a close shave with the taxi driver John Worboys. I was in Soho and going back to Chiswick where I lived, and I got a black cab. This guy wouldn’t stop talking and he offered me champagne, and I said: “I don’t like champagne.” It went a bit quiet and I thought I’d offended him. Then I remember going: “Hang on a minute, you shouldn’t be drinking champagne if you’re driving.” And he said: “I’ve just won the lottery and I’m finished after this.” I had a lucky escape.

Passionate, gobby, flabby.