If needed—a doctor-assisted death.

How doesn’t matter—it’s when that matters. When I’m ready!

At the right time, and like my father—utterly without fear or pain, at home, with all whom I love. It was his last lesson as a parent to me.

And even if my voice goes before I do, I shall continue to write polemics against religious delusions, at least until it’s hello darkness my old friend. In which case, why not cancer of the brain? As a terrified, half-aware imbecile, I might even scream for a priest at the close of business, though I hereby state while I am still lucid that the entity thus humiliating itself would not in fact be “me.” (Bear this in mind, in case of any later rumors or fabrications.)

All our lives are little books - but they're not someone else's complete book. You're a chapter or a page or a footnote in someone else's life and they are going to keep writing beautiful chapters when you are gone. And those green shoots can grow around grief and put it in perspective. I hope people will think, "I'm glad I read that - Simon's story". And just because it's over, doesn't mean it's gone.

I'm sort of - not looking forward to my final day - of course that's the wrong way to see it. But I'm kind of curious about it, and I'm happy and I'm ready. As Julian of Norwich said: "All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well.

All our tombs will be unvisited in a few years - all our actions will mostly be unremembered - but the smile you gave the checkout lady or the kind words you gave to a stranger in the street could still be rippling forward. We all have that opportunity and it's a huge power.