Picking tiny bits of glass out of long grass for Haringey council, 45 years ago.

Working in a furniture factory in Warrington when I was 17. It was a summer job, and I had to cover the studs in the back of Chesterfield sofas with leather.

Working in farming in Somerset at 18, there were elements that were awful, and they were all really edifying. I mean, feeding chickens in sleet was hard work but I am so glad I did it.

I cleaned for a very posh lady in Knightsbridge who made me handwash her knickers. I’d advertised myself in The Lady as a dog walker, so I’m not sure how I ended up there.

Like driving a Ford Mustang with the top down across the Golden Gate Bridge while the sun is setting and you have a dinner reservation in Sausalito.

When I read the story of a blind, bisexual goose called Thomas who had died in New Zealand after a lifetime of love for a swan called Henry. It sounds ridiculous but is entirely true.

Bloody radiator keeps banging. I think it needs air releasing but I don’t have a bleeding key.

I’ve had a surprising number of near-death experiences: I was nearly blown up by a landmine in Sudan; I was stranded on the Zambezi river at night; I was bucked off a rodeo horse in Arizona and had to be airlifted to hospital; and, worst of all, I once ate a Pot Noodle.

Last Tuesday at 10 past three.

Any fashion designer whose clothes on me must have made them weep.