It would be too late to write my autobiography. I guess I would drink coffee and talk with my friends. Hopefully we could do some jamming as well that would be recorded. I think it would be quite an emotional moment. I would definitely be playing flute. Flute is the instrument of death in a way.

I’m like a teenager in that I always leave a trail of stuff behind me, whether it’s empty teacups or records not put back in their sleeves – just stuff in piles everywhere that never gets dealt with. So I reckon I’d have a massive tidy-up. I’d do all the DIY stuff that I’ve been promising to do for the last couple of years – I’d put the shelf back up in the bedroom, fill the hole in the wall in the landing, and I might mow the lawn if the weather’s alright… Basically all the stuff that annoys my wife I’d deal with, so I can make sure my legacy wasn’t a load of mess and unfinished jobs. Oh, and I’d take some prawns out of the freezer as well.

I’d run it like every day: have something good to eat, make sure my body’s feeling good, and then when it’s time to go I’d head to the spa and just be massaged into death.

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.