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.

Forty-eight hours after giving birth, I sent a picture that someone had sent me of their baby to a WhatsApp group, thinking it was my son (they kind of looked similar). Mortifying.

In my early days of transitioning, I used to come to London and meet for a drink with a group going through the same thing. I used to wear a full wig, and one night I’d drunk too much and fell asleep on the train, and my wig slipped off.

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?”

My books. There’s no greater feeling than a disabled child coming up to me and saying, “I’ve never seen myself in a book before.”

“You’re not funny.” I fully understand why my comedy might not be right for everyone, but don’t tell me, get on with your day!

Not being liked.

As someone who was happy, silly and went out there, unafraid, and did what she wanted to do.