This pledge will leave my lifestyle untouched and that of my children as well. They have already received significant sums for their personal use and will receive more in the future. They live comfortable and productive lives.

Yet one thing cannot be robbed of her futurity: my daughter, Cady. I hope I’ll live long enough that she has some memory of me. Words have a longevity I do not. I had thought I could leave her a series of letters — but what would they really say? ... There is perhaps only one thing to say to this infant, who is all future, overlapping briefly with me, whose life, barring the improbable, is all but past. That message is simple: When you come to one of the many moments in life when you must give an account of yourself, provide a ledger of what you have been, and done, and meant to the world, do not, I pray, discount that you filled a dying man’s days with a sated joy, a joy unknown to me in all my prior years, a joy that does not hunger for more and more, but rests, satisfied.

Good memories. When I’m gone, I want them to feel that they were always my No 1 priority.

Forty-eight hours after giving birth, I sent a picture that someone had sent me of their baby to a WhatsApp group, thinking it was my son (they kind of looked similar). Mortifying.

I am so curious. We had my son christened because there may be a god but, equally, my partner is a science teacher, so I am also completely open to the possibility that nothing happens.

My grandma, who died a few years ago, because I wasn’t able to see her on my last visit to Georgia.

“Your lyrics are rubbish.” It was someone I was working with when I was in my early 20s. It turned out well because I then spent a long time studying and learning how to write good lyrics.

Living a fairytale.

I would have partied a little bit harder in my 20s.