I cannot pretend to feel impartial about the colours. I rejoice with the brilliant ones, and am genuinely sorry for the poor browns. When I get to heaven I mean to spend a considerable portion of my first million years in painting, and so get to the bottom of the subject. But then I shall require a still gayer palette than I get here below. I expect orange and vermilion will be the darkest, dullest colours upon it, and beyond them there will be a whole range of wonderful new colours which will delight the celestial eye.

Oh, man. Well, I hope when we die, it’s the same as before we were born. No one’s really frightened of that enormous, infinite blackness before we were born. No one sits there thinking, “Oh, God, how awful. I was nothing.” So I don’t really see why we should be frightened of that after we die, as long as it is black. I really don’t want to be up there on a cloud playing a harp, meeting some of the people I’ve hated in my life. I can’t imagine a greater nightmare. That would be hell, in fact.

Our friends are sad and miss us for a bit but, hopefully, they find other people at the party.

I don’t think we’re meant to know.

I don’t think you could print it, it’s so bad.

If I bothered to read instructions.

That I didn’t appreciate the smaller joys in life.

My closest friend at uni – I sometimes retreat from life in quite an extreme way, without word. Back then, I didn’t really understand what I was doing.

Unbending opinions.

Happy Day by Sarkodie. I’m half Ghanaian, and in Ghana funerals really are a celebration of life. You dance and sing; it’s just a completely different vibe to over here in the UK. I would hope at my funeral that everyone’s on their feet, having a good time.