Such as?
Planes.

Is that it?
Actually, I hate anything with wings: birds, beetles, wasps and daddy-longlegs. I can just about cope with ladybirds but I have had to get the neighbour to help me at times when a stag beetle has been beside the front door of our house.

Ever resort to popping pills while in the air?
I’m afraid I cope on flights by taking all the drugs prescribed by my doctor — they stave off the impending feeling of disaster, as well as stopping me from crying all the time.

You were a very slinky Miss Moneypenny who radiated cool. Was that natural poise?
I trained as a ballet dancer from the age of 4 to 16 and, fortunately, it has given me a good basis of fitness for the rest of my life, and great posture, too. Also I have strong back muscles. Ballet is not so good for your knees though and I have dreadfully overdeveloped calves. And when I first became an actress I had to concentrate on not walking around like a duck, the way that all dancers do.

Why did you hang up your pointes. Was it discovering boys?
I grew too big. Too tall. And I got breasts.

And has Miss Moneypenny retired, too?
I always said I would do it as long as Pierce Brosnan did it but, frankly, without him it would feel like being unfaithful.

You don’t have your sights set on Hollywood then?
I would really like to do some more films. But the reality is that it is probably not where my journey’s going. I’m content. I have respect for that word. The world looks on content with scorn — and it shouldn’t.

Strive for the body beautiful?
I have done Pilates in the past but I am too busy for that now.

No personal trainer on location?
If I was very grand I might have one, I suppose, but, if I did it, I would be laughed out of Equity.

So how do you stay svelte?
I have never done a sedentary play. The cardiovascular element of live drama does it all for me. When I was playing Lady Macbeth I had to pretend to have an actual fit on stage. I became very thin because the role was physically exhausting.

Was the role as unlucky as some claim?
When we were performing at Richmond Theatre I once came running off stage and discovered they hadn’t finished building the set. I flew about 5ft (1.5m) in the air past Sean Bean, who was playing Macbeth. He had to go on stage not knowing if he was going to have a wife to play opposite after the interval. Fortunately, I just ended up with cuts and bruises.

Would you treat that sort of thing with arnica or are you an antibiotics fan?
We do both in our house. I have a huge respect for a lot of types of alternative medicine, including acupuncture. Also I have a very sporty family — my husband ran the London Marathon this year — so we often go to our local osteopath for physical check-ups.

Any special dietary requirements?
I will eat pretty much anything, but I do draw the line at offal. I love mussels but they hate me. Tragically, I’m allergic to shellfish.

How do you chill out?
I do something called “autogenics”, which has been described as the Western mode of meditation. You talk yourself through a list of instructions and take yourself down to an autogenic state. It’s the equivalent to a 45-minute sleep. I can do it in about 11 minutes.

You’re into ascending the astral ladder?
I believe in creative visualisation, which for me is the equivalent of prayer.

Sins of the flesh?
I enjoy social drinking, particularly with friends over lunch on a Sunday. And I’m appalled to say I also indulge in social smoking. If I want to stop the ghastly fags, I suspect that willpower is the only solution.

What’s your mantra?
It is a quotation that was found scrawled on a make-up mirror at Pinewood Studios. “The past is history. The future is a mystery. But this moment is a gift. Which is why it’s called the present.”

Donkey’s Years is being performed at the Comedy Theatre, London SW1, until July 29. For tickets phone 0870 0606637

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