Forgetting the wonderful memories I have got from throughout my life. Three years ago, I was diagnosed with dementia.

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.

I don’t think anything scares me. It’s a gift and I want to embrace it.

Certainly not. As a young child, I remember just dreaming about the Nobel Prize, but that was just a dream. It’s not something I would have ever thought was possible for me.

My mum. I was horrendous growing up – I was always arguing with her.

A travel agent.

Fiercely loyal, funny, easy-going. I’m sure my daughter and stepdaughters wouldn’t agree with the last bit, but I think I am.

I can’t bear people who lie.

Fear of flying.

Years ago in a safari park in South Africa, and getting all dressed up for dinner. Walking across the lawn, I didn’t realise there was a swimming pool that hadn’t been lit and walked straight into the shallow end fully clothed. It still haunts me. I remember trying to get out as if no one would notice.