It’s not sudden.

That I’m going to start commenting “Wow” under AI images I think are real.

I don't want to be called a senior citizen, I feel like a spring colt. I don't want to be called a has-been, because there's things I want to do in life. But, I've been there and I'd say, "Don't let the bastards get you down." And they don't anymore, I don't talk to them anymore, so they don't get me down. I've got my family, and I've got so many blessings that I don't think I've earned, that I'm a very happy man.

When my father was in his terminal year, I discussed death with him. I recall very clearly his relief that the cancer that was taking him was at least allowing him "all his marbles". Dementia in its varied forms is not like cancer. Dad saw the cancer in his pancreas as an invader. But Alzheimer's is me, unwinding, losing trust in myself, a butt of my own jokes and on bad days capable of playing hunt the slipper by myself and losing. You can't battle it, you can't be a plucky "survivor". It steals you from yourself. And I'm 60; that's supposed to be the new 40.

The white-water canoe run I did solo at Lady Evelyn Park 20 years ago. It was impromptu. It took the skin off my knees. It was an unnecessary risk.

That human beings will follow their stupid and greedy side, rather than their smart side, and go down the plughole. We’re circling the rim.

Can't pick and choose, it's bad luck.

Don’t sit down in the middle of the woods. If you’re lost in the plot or blocked, retrace your steps to where you went wrong. Then take the other road. And/or change the person. Change the tense. Change the opening page.

At this age? A batty old lady wandering around talking to herself? But I do that anyway. Oh, you mean what would I have been. Maybe a botanist. If so, I’d be genetically engineering drought-resistant crops right now. Either that, or sentient fungi. (I know, I know, Mr. Sheldrake: they’re already sentient. So, more sentient.)

I’d stop saying yes to inessential requests.