After graduating from flares and platforms in the early 1970s, I started drama school wearing a pair of khaki dungarees with one of my Dad's Army shirts, accessorised by a cat's basket doubling as a handbag. Very Lady Gaga.

I've just got crap hair. Although I inherited a lot of stuff from my dad, including giant knees, I didn't get his good, thick hair. I got my mother's thin, wispy, non-event hair instead.

I've never been prudish.

I wouldn't say I was grumpy. It's more pathological - I have seismic tantrums. I get red in the face and cry at least three times a week, and I have to lie down and have a nap afterwards.

My older sister is bossy, my brother is a stirrer and me - well, I am perfect!

I'm very bad at having heroes. I don't rate anyone particularly highly because I'm so snide and competitive and not very nice.

A good fart joke makes me bawl with laughter, so will somebody farting. And the word 'poo.' You can't beat a good poo joke.