I’ve got three boys and they’re always asking about my scars. I used to be self-conscious about them, but now I don’t mind – each one tells a story. The irony is that the biggest scars are from ridiculous things. People think the one on my back must be from a shark or crocodile, but it’s from when I fell off something small in the desert and landed on a cactus; and I’ve got a big one on my chest from taking a pizza out of the oven with no clothes on.