Just thinking about unsafe sex.

Many times on British roads, because I drive very fast. In another life, I would have liked doing Formula One.

Having a gun held to my head at a May Day rally during the revolution in Grenada. I was mistaken for a CIA agent.

But in a flash there came across me a great project. The chine which the bridge spanned was full of young fir trees. Their slender tops reached to the level of the footway. 'Would it not' I asked myself 'be possible to leap on to one of them and slip down the pole-like stem, breaking off each tier of branches as one descended, until the fall was broken?' I looked at it. I computed it. I meditated. Meanwhile I climbed over the balustrade. My young pursuers stood wonder-struck at either end of the bridge. To plunge or not to plunge, that was the question! In a second I had plunged, throwing out my arms to embrace the summit of the fir tree. The argument was correct; the data were absolutely wrong. It was three days before I regained consciousness and more than three months before I crawled from my bed. The measured fall was 29 feet on to hard ground. But no doubt the branches helped.

I wouldn’t have hurt as many people, and I would have thought more before speaking.

To Sophie, for not being a better parent.

As having been loving and fun.

A mum, an airline stewardess or an artist.

A blurred, warm state of total acceptance and joy.