I have more than once in my time woken up feeling like death. But nothing prepared me for the early morning last June when I came to consciousness feeling as if I were actually shackled to my own corpse. The whole cave of my chest and thorax seemed to have been hollowed out and then refilled with slow-drying cement. I could faintly hear myself breathe but could not manage to inflate my lungs. My heart was beating either much too much or much too little. Any movement, however slight, required forethought and planning.

When I was an idiot high school student, as opposed to being an idiot adult, I used to drive very fast.

I had a car crash not long after passing my test, driving mates to a club on a Saturday night. Thankfully, everyone was OK – as was my dad about his car, which was a write-off.

A plane to San Francisco, 25 years ago. There was a bang and I looked out of the window and saw flames coming out of one of the engines. We zoomed down to the airport below.

I would like the poem Cherish by Raymond Carver. It was read by my dad at my wedding, and is my absolute favourite.

Listening to the last 10 minutes of the podcast S-Town. It is one of my favourite reminders of what life is truly all about.

Any writer who thinks I’ve ruined their work in performance.

A birthday present I hoped would mean a lot to the person. I had their family history researched and a book made.

Dawn French, because I am sitting next to her and she says if I don’t say her, she will hurt me.

In my childhood, when I didn’t think about whether it was happy. It just was.