Let’s pretend I’ve been training for my pilot’s licence. I’d like to take off in a two-seater sea plane from the loch in Mull and land it expertly in the little boating lake at Heaton Park. Which interestingly has a pair of my spectacles at the bottom of it from my last day at school in 1990.

I’m like a teenager in that I always leave a trail of stuff behind me, whether it’s empty teacups or records not put back in their sleeves – just stuff in piles everywhere that never gets dealt with. So I reckon I’d have a massive tidy-up. I’d do all the DIY stuff that I’ve been promising to do for the last couple of years – I’d put the shelf back up in the bedroom, fill the hole in the wall in the landing, and I might mow the lawn if the weather’s alright… Basically all the stuff that annoys my wife I’d deal with, so I can make sure my legacy wasn’t a load of mess and unfinished jobs. Oh, and I’d take some prawns out of the freezer as well.

I’d look for the mad amusement park on the base of Mount Fuji and take a few rides in there, and then whisk myself off very, very, very quickly on a jet cos it’s gonna be a long day. I’m thinking of getting stuck up in the Himalayas, but then that just gives me another mountain and you’re gonna think I’m a bit of a mountain freak. Where would I go? Not the pyramids! I’d like to get a plane from Japan to Petra in Syria, which is a little city that’s in the desert; it’s quite famous, it’s all made out of sand, like carved out of the desert. While I’m flying I’d like to catch up on the last few books of Philip K. Dick, then I’d come to my flat in London for lunch, say my goodbyes to my dear friends and family, pick up my two children and leave. I’d steal a tank and drive it up to Heathrow. I wouldn’t mind giving my girlfriend one in the middle of Parliament Square whilst shouting out, ‘It’s in the name of art!’ Then I’d nick a Concorde and fly to Arizona whilst having a wet shave and a top massage.

I’ll have to write the greatest song I’ve ever written. You know, every day I get up, I live most days like they’re my last. I wake up with a kind of fear in my belly, with a feeling like, ‘This is it – go for it.’ So in many respects, it won’t be that much different from any other day. Knowing my luck, if I knew it was going to be my last day I’d make an elaborate arrangement. But something always goes wrong – like the gas boiler would explode. I’m not very good at making plans, so I live every day as if it’s my last. But I’d have to write a great song.

I know what I want to have, but I don't know if Linda would like it. I thought I'd have: 'He played between the notes.'