None of this was supposed to happen. At 38, I wasn’t supposed to lie on my back in the E.R. on a late December morning and be told by a teary radiation oncology resident that the pain I’d been having for two months — that I’d been assured was from having a weak core after months of chemo — was actually from a tumor that had devoured my L2 vertebra. John wasn’t supposed to have to hold me up on the toilet. Put my pants on for me. Do Christmas Eve for the children without me. I’m not supposed to be thinking about where he will sit and hold my hand as I take my last breath.

I’ve dodged a couple of bullets in dodgy war zones, but I suspect the closest I’ve come to death was a reckless, drunken brush with a waltzer at a student funfair. It nearly chopped me in half.

When I was little, I took a bunch of pills out of the cabinet because I was bored, when I was supposed to be taking a nap. I had to have my stomach pumped.

Three squaddies on a train in 1995.

I am a shoe and bag freak. I shelled out for a Chanel handbag on eBay and it was still four figures!

Some of the neuroses of my 20s. I knew I had a great talent, but I thought it was unmarketable because I felt ugly.

Having a career that’s 29 years in.

It’s another bloody Prince song, I’m so sorry – Mountains. I love how the chord structure ascends and the vocals – “It’s only mountains and the sea / There’s nothing greater than you and me” – feel like an ascension. I’d like to think, when I shuffle off this mortal coil, I’m going to be ascending as opposed to descending. I think I’ve been a good girl.