The other day, when I decided that maybe I had been too harsh on mid-period Sting.

I’m trying to write my will and I keep changing my mind.

Six months ago, I decided to move house. I got a skip, cleared everything out and then thought: “Why am I doing this?” So I remained, and I’m glad I did.

When I now think of how the uncertainty about my own future, and the proximity of death, threw me into torment, careering wildly between hope and despair, I look back in wonder at how little I thought about the effect I had on my own patients after I had spoken to them. I did worry that if my tone of voice was too pessimistic the poor patient might spend what little time they had left feeling deeply depressed, simply waiting to die. So I tried to find a balance between telling them the truth and not depriving them of hope. After a patient died, I only occasionally heard back from the family, so I had little way of knowing whether the way I had spoken to them was appropriate or not.

My brother Joe, he’s nine years older than me.

As someone with integrity.

Careless cruelty.

Not playing Stanley Kowalski in A Streetcar Named Desire. I am a huge Brando fan and a big Tennessee Williams fan and it’s a part I would love to have a go at. It’s possible I still could but I’m too old, really.

Obsequiousness.

Being accepted for who you are but also being encouraged to continue to grow.