It’s nearly happened twice, each time after an operation.

Throat and neck cancer in 2018. They told me six to eight months if it hadn’t been caught.

Today is a pretty important day. It was August 15th, 2007, when I was told I likely had "three to six months of good health left." Today is six months from that day. Just to prove I'm still alive, here I am, holding today's New York Times! I rode my bike today; the cumulative effects of the chemotherapy are hurting my stamina some, but I bet I can still run a quarter mile faster than most Americans. The doctors weren't wrong; they always said that if the palliative chemo worked, I'd buy more time, but that it was a long shot. And the doctors have done a brilliant job of tweaking my regimen to help my odds. How much longer this will work is hard to know, but I'm going to keep having fun every day I have left, no matter how many or how few of them I get.

Being about nine metres away from a polar bear. In northern Canada, a young polar bear was very intrigued by our food. I was flying the drone at the time and the polar bear looked up and started paying attention, so then we flew the drone further away and he followed it while we got into our vehicles.

Boothby Graffoe calling up to pester me into promoting his new album, available on Amazon and iTunes.

Overeating when stressed.

Sending a text meant for my wife to Dara O'Briain by mistake, revealing myself to be a control freak.

When my bowels move freely and without complications.

Selling low-grade cookery books in west London office buildings.

Jumping on the seats of a deserted carriage on a London-bound train from Canterbury in 1989.