So here is one of my theories on happiness: we cannot know if we have lived a truly happy life until the very end. This view of life and death was reinforced by my close witnessing of the buildup to the death of Philip Gould. Philip was without doubt my closest friend in politics. When he died, I felt like I had lost a limb.

His cares are now all ended.

He hath awakened from the dream of life.

How could you go about choosing something that would hold the half of your heart you had to bury?

Yesterday I saved a baby, a boy, a man, and an old man from death, and all by simply not impregnating anybody. But I don't consider myself a hero. Merely heroic, and also unable to reach any of my lady friends on the phone.