The night my daughter was born, New York, December 29, 1997. After she emerged and I held her in the palm of my hand, I walked around Manhattan in a stupor of happiness.

I'm a happy guy in general, but the feeling of freedom and fun I got driving around with my friends in my first car is hard to top.

In the first month of my second daughter Nell’s life. My first daughter, Ella-Jayne, was born with a serious heart defect so I didn’t get to just be a mum, I was a carer for the eight months of her life and lived in a hospital. When Nell was born, having a healthy child and being able to be a mum was incredible.

If it wasn’t for coronavirus, it would be right now. All my life I’ve felt a pressure to achieve. It’s gone now, and that gives me a sense of freedom. Whenever I, for short moments, forget about corona and climate change, I’m happy.

Being at home on a Sunday night with my husband, Will, and all of our children, eating chicken tikka masala and naan from our favorite restaurant.

In my bed at home at a ripe old age with the knowledge that my children, and grandchildren if I have any, are thriving, happy, and provided for.

Balloons. I have a big phobia of balloons. Big.

Meghan Markle. I don’t know how she continues to walk through this world with the grace, strength, and purpose that she does given the unbearable amount of vitriol and hate she has been subjected to, but she does. I wish she didn’t have to.

If hoarding and procrastination were Olympic sports, I’d have at least 70 gold medals.