So maybe I don’t try to figure it out. Maybe I just aim to get the couch right: strong bones, high-quality leather, something earthy and animal and real. A surface that knows something of what it was to be alive, that warms to our touch and cools in our absence. Also: an expansive bench that fits all of us. Something that will hold us through everything that lies ahead — the loving, collapsing and nuzzling. The dying, the grieving.

Resilience, courage and kindness, as compassionate points to follow.

A healthy planet.

So it seems to be my responsibility, particularly to my children, also to my wife and friends, is not to be Pollyanna and pretend everything's okay no one would take me seriously if I said that but it's to be as present in their lives now as I can be so that in years to come, they don't feel either guilty or bad at my having been left out of their lives, that they feel still a very strong not a memory of particular actions but a memory of a complete family rather than a broken one. That seems to be something I can do or try to do.

Having conversations with young people who you remember being born.

When I hired two private detectives and got them to follow each other.

Quiet, sharp, clumsy.

Oh, most days. I can watch a political programme and think, “That sounds a really good point.” Then someone will argue the opposite and I’ll think, “Yeah, he’s got a point as well.” I am constantly sitting on a fence.

By people smiling or shaking their heads. I’ll even take rolling their eyes.

Healthier food from motorway service stations – I am always going through them late at night and it’s all rubbish.