When I now think of how the uncertainty about my own future, and the proximity of death, threw me into torment, careering wildly between hope and despair, I look back in wonder at how little I thought about the effect I had on my own patients after I had spoken to them. I did worry that if my tone of voice was too pessimistic the poor patient might spend what little time they had left feeling deeply depressed, simply waiting to die. So I tried to find a balance between telling them the truth and not depriving them of hope. After a patient died, I only occasionally heard back from the family, so I had little way of knowing whether the way I had spoken to them was appropriate or not.

When I worked out I was gay and decided to leave the church at 29.

In the first few months of Nubank, I asked everybody to be here by 8:00 a.m. every day. I saw it as a test of people's commitment, and I was pretty rigid about it.

I always thought I would be a terrible driver because I’m sort of a wafty person, but it turns out I am very good at staying in between the lines. I passed my test last year.

The internet. Such potential for good and for levelling up the world, but such a quagmire in reality.

Like getting out of the right side of the bed every morning, even when you don’t.

Somebody once told me I was the spitting image of David Cameron.

For world capitalism to grind to a halt.

I can’t say it.

My first holy communion, where my trousers were too big for me and fell down, a circumstance which earned me both the instant contempt of the girls and the heightened interest of the priests. That’s just how it was in 1975.