My parents. We didn’t realise how absolutely desperate they were when we left Germany, because my father couldn’t earn anything. A letter turned up fairly recently in which he said, “We’ve been through a terrible time because Julia [my mother] never stopped talking about suicide and not just for herself, but to take the children with her.”

I was not great with my mother-in-law, who was a very gentle woman. I thought she would be an uninvited part of my life for ever, but she died early and I wished I had been more open and patient.

To the British public generally. They know why.

To my daughters and my partner, Tracey, for what I put them through with my transition.

Not being at peace with myself, in spite of an ongoing lifetime effort to try to calm down and accept that, no matter what, I did the best I could.

Less work, more living.

I would have been a better listener. I would have pursued more friendships instead of focusing so much on work and myself. I’m doing all that now, but I’m running out of time.

Love is a religious experience, which then requires me to define religion, which I define as everything I don’t understand.

Citizens around the world blaming others for their personal disappointments, othering them, labelling them, terrorising them with hate-filled rhetoric and shutting the doors of their hearts.