Losing the ability to get about.

When my father was in his terminal year, I discussed death with him. I recall very clearly his relief that the cancer that was taking him was at least allowing him "all his marbles". Dementia in its varied forms is not like cancer. Dad saw the cancer in his pancreas as an invader. But Alzheimer's is me, unwinding, losing trust in myself, a butt of my own jokes and on bad days capable of playing hunt the slipper by myself and losing. You can't battle it, you can't be a plucky "survivor". It steals you from yourself. And I'm 60; that's supposed to be the new 40.

Having regrets and not knowing what to do about them.

I cry a lot because I miss people. I cry a lot because they die and I can't stop them. They leave me and I love them more. ... And so it's what I dread more than anything is the isolation.

I’ve been lugging around Doris Lessing’s books, which I have yet to read.

I would have been OK with feeling shy. In my teenage years, I thought being an actor meant that you had to be a little more performative.

Completely nuts.

I once asked a young woman if she had ever heard of the musician Laura Marling, insinuating I knew Laura Marling, to which she replied: “I am Laura Marling.”

I always thought I would be a terrible driver because I’m sort of a wafty person, but it turns out I am very good at staying in between the lines. I passed my test last year.

People give me a hard time about my hats. Over Christmas, this drunk woman shouted something about me having a shit hat because I had a red beanie on. Last week at a party, someone gave me a hard time for wearing a cap. I just think about melting ice caps when this happens.