If there's anything worse than being 16, it's having parents visibly reliving their own teenage years in your anguished presence.

Of one thing there is no doubt: if Paris makes demands of the heart, then Munich makes demands of the stomach.

Of course I'm naughty. I've always had to compete for attention, you see.

I do not think that having children - I have three teenagers - keeps you young. The reverse. It thrusts you into a full-frontal confrontation with your own all-too-obvious maturity.

Being blonde means people decide on sight that you are much prettier and nicer than you really are, just as Americans automatically add 10 points to someone's IQ when they hear an English accent. Fact.

I'm worried about looking like a bad person when, in fact, I try to be a good person. I don't like the public image that I've been dressed with and it worries me.

I talk to bankers, distributors, marketing people. I used to sit at home in my tracksuit bottoms, and the real excitement of my day would be going out to get a copy of Private Eye and a latte.