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What has happened to the good old-fashioned travel agent? I want to go to a really posh travel agent and have them organise everything for me. I don’t want to do things on the Internet.
I admire the Elsie Tanners and Barbara Windsors of the world: people who have crawled back from the abyss. I’m quite camp in that respect.
I was trained as an actress. But I wasn’t a very convincing actress, so I started doing punk poetry and then fell into doing stand-up.
I don’t do marriage. I think it’s incredibly naff. And I don’t like vulgar displays of ostentation.
Well, I’m not good with sliminess. I hate the thought of creatures that have slime on them or creatures that leave a slimy trail. At home, the sight of a slug can bring up my breakfast.
I can’t watch other people doing comedy. As soon as somebody starts being funny I have to turn off because it upsets me. I get comedy indigestion. I just hate anybody else being funny. That’s my job.
As a five-year-old in Berlin in 1965, I didn’t know that funny women existed. It wasn’t until I got back to England that I realised women could be funny.
I have a fear of poverty in old age. I have this vision of myself living in a skip and eating cat food. It’s because I’m freelance, and I’ve never had a proper job. I don’t have a pension, and my savings are dwindling. I always thought someone would just come along and look after me.
I’m very jealous of my daughter’s education. She’s been inspired by her teachers, and nobody inspired me as a teenager.
I think I might actually die of showing off. It’ll be on my headstone – ‘Cause of Death: Showing Off.’