This is so heavy. If I’m never going to see my kids and husband again, it’s to let them know how giantly, massively and crazily I love them. Every ounce of me loves them so deeply, it makes me cry.

I guess dancing up a storm in the living room with my husband and children, and the farmer from across the way. Man, that farmer can dance.

The only thing left to achieve would be to just enjoy the fact that the ride was amazing, and probably say as many ‘I love you’s as I could. It would be a day of reflection for sure. But I wouldn’t want for more because I’ve had more than I could have ever imagined in the first place.

I’ll have to write the greatest song I’ve ever written. You know, every day I get up, I live most days like they’re my last. I wake up with a kind of fear in my belly, with a feeling like, ‘This is it – go for it.’ So in many respects, it won’t be that much different from any other day. Knowing my luck, if I knew it was going to be my last day I’d make an elaborate arrangement. But something always goes wrong – like the gas boiler would explode. I’m not very good at making plans, so I live every day as if it’s my last. But I’d have to write a great song.

Myself. I have never been harder on anyone else.

I don’t care if I am remembered or not.

Greta Thunberg, a brightly coloured little bird in a coalmine, desperately sounding the alarm for others while laying her childhood to waste.

Climate change. That is the single most important calamity in the making that I obsess over.

Dying of the same awful disease that took my mother – a particularly aggressive form of dementia called Pick’s disease.

My dog’s trust in me.