The greatest athlete we never knew we had.

As an honest person who did his best.

As somebody who tried.

As someone who left the world slightly more interesting than he found it.

My mum died in her early 70s, and for the last six or seven years of her life she couldn’t move, didn’t speak. By the time our children were born, she was too ill to communicate. I haven’t many regrets in life, but I do regret that they never got to know her, even though she was still alive for a few years. They couldn’t see her warmth, her spirit, her courage.

Vic, my wife, has over the years reduced my impatience, but anybody who has been in a traffic jam with me will know that she hasn’t completed the task yet.

When I was appointed director of public prosecutions, I had a government car and visited the security services. When I came out, I got into the back of what I thought was my car, but it was somebody’s private car and they told me in no uncertain terms to get out. I had to reverse out with as much dignity as I could, with the head of security services watching.

Ever since they were born, Vic and I have been clear: happiness and confidence are the two things we want most for our children and the rest can all fall into place.

Before I was DPP, I did a lot of work trying to get rid of the death penalty in various countries, and one was Malawi. We’d been in court in Zomba and had to get a plane in Lilongwe, about 200 miles away. We got a local taxi: the guy changed his wheels for the journey because the car wasn’t roadworthy and then hurtled at speed, mostly on the wrong side of the road. I’ve never been so terrified.

There are yards and yards and yards of abuse every day. I ignore the lot of it.