I would make love all night. I don’t think I’d like to drink any alcohol or take any drugs because it cuts you off from reality and I would like to be really present and conscious during my last day on Earth.

If the rain held off, I’d walk down to Lough Ine, stopping at the shrine to say a few words to Herself and rile a few fairies. I’d take a sloop out, do a few perimeters and have a chat with Labhrai Loinsigh. I’d maybe walk up furry mountain and take in the view.

Book all the headliners that I’ve never managed to book for Bestival, for future Bestivals that my children will run after I die. Kate Bush, Prince, Dolly Parton, David Bowie – maybe throw Iron Maiden in there for a bit of a laugh. I’d get on the mobile and stroll around outside and do some deals. Maybe get some of these hard-arse agents to give me a bit of a discount as I’m dying.

I would stop working out right away. I wouldn’t lift another weight, I wouldn’t run another mile. I would sit on my ass and eat as many cookies as I could find.

My microphone cost me six grand.

Bill Drummond, Thomas Bangalter and Jay-Z.

Cleaning toilets in a motorway service station.

My brother was singing Yellow Submarine on stage with his class. I was singing along with them, showing off cos I knew all the words. The song ended suddenly and I was the only one in the whole hall who sang, 'We ...'

Realising that success wasn't going to keep me happy all my life.

That I might have to do a normal job.