My grandmother spoiled my father rotten and he grew up expecting women to do whatever he wanted. When he married my beautiful mother, Elsa, he expected her to give up her career as a champion ballroom dancer and become a good wife and mother, which she dutifully did.

I mean, I'm a war baby, and we had rationing, and we didn't have sugar and sweets, which is very good for you in actual fact. Because when we had a piece of fruit, we'd gulp it down. It was just great.

I have to say that those nine years were full of turmoil and drama and trauma to me, in actual fact.

I've never yet met a man who could look after me. I don't need a husband. What I need is a wife.

The cosmetics industry has much to answer for. It's a multi-million- pound confidence trick based on giving women endless hope, courtesy of overpriced little pots.

Every time an article is written about me or any of my contemporaries who's had the fortune and discipline to look good at a certain age, I am struck by the tone of astonishment, and the certainty that something is being done secretively to beat the devil.

Well, it is quite daunting, but I made my first appearance on the stage when I was nine, because I went to a theatrical school, because I wanted to be an actress since I was eight.