Nothing. Tony Benn, one of my favourite politicians, said, “I don’t care where you’ve been, I care where you’re going.”

The peace of the Sabbath, of a stopped world, a time outside time, was palpable, infused everything, and I found myself drenched with a wistfulness, something akin to nostalgia, wondering what if: What if A and B and C had been different? What sort of person might I have been? What sort of a life might I have lived?

Boarding school. It was horrible.

I’d have told a racist cabbie to go fuck himself, but I was scared about being chucked out on the street at 2am.

When my first husband died, because it felt like my life was over, and it was challenging to keep in life at the time.

I’m not really ashamed, but I haven’t read Lord of the Rings.

My mum looks after our kids all the time, but on the very few weeks she takes time off, doing it all is a big juggle. My mum is a combination of Mary Poppins and Angela Davis, so I’d clone her.

All the big ones – climate change, safety for our children, money.

Listening to a song that my brother-in-law – the brother of Jason, my first husband – wrote, about how hard it was to live without his brother.

I worked in a cafe, which I loved, but when it was quiet we had to scrape the fat out from between the tiles on the floor with a butter knife.