I have been diagnosed with a rare form of—look, actually, it doesn’t matter. They’re going to operate on my head to stop me from getting worse. The trouble is that we already know it won’t save me. I will definitely die. My mind is defined by a kind of broken-ness that can’t be replicated in ordinary function. I sound fine for now, but it’s temporary. It’s a window, if you like, open because of drugs and electrotherapy and all sorts of other things.