As I’m not going to experience an illness of this ilk again, I wanted to record what it’s like. I spend most of my day either asleep or with my eyes closed and awake. This includes when I’m talking to people, which obviously comes across as rather rude. It’s hard to explain other than I seem to have a finite capacity to absorb any kind of information, whether that be people talking, images, changes in the weather, new smells, cooking, cats meowing wanting attention. All of these seem to require some processing power that I don’t necessarily have.

The family has got used to this, and are very tolerant of what appears to be a kind of arrogant disdain for whatever it is they’re trying to say or communicate. And I am now unabashed, even with strangers, to shut my eyes while they’re talking.

I no longer have any grown-up food. In fact, I have no food for pleasure at all. The only thing I have to take, which is measured out in brutal doses, is Complan – milk flavour or banana flavour. This is carefully mixed up with ice cream to make it as cold as possible, and I take it with a sick bowl next to me, ready for the last retch. This is truly one of the most unpleasant aspects of this whole happening.

I can’t read, or, to put it another way, I could read without assimilating or absorbing or understanding. And I hope this explains why I fail to read any of your emails or WhatsApps. They remain for the most part unopened. I wish I could reacquire the capacity to engage through digital media, but at the moment this has evaporated.

I think it’s time to admit I am pretty much bedbound. Any visits to the toilet require one of my loved ones to push me through on a mobile commode, and then to take on the necessary thereafter. Bravo to them.

I certainly come across as pretty miserable, particularly after a couple of nights ago I had what we think was a mini-stroke. My mouth drooped and my speech became slurred for about an hour. I was very troubled, and so were the family. But happily it bounced back very quickly, and I’ve been advised that this was just a warning shot, and I should be mindful to ensure the appropriate medication is applied.

Despite this, I have been able to enjoy several bouts of creativity, including – and Paul, you’ll be pleased about this – asking the boys to clean up the Dirty Tricks recording and listening to it more or less in full. I had always felt this was a missed masterpiece.

In addition, we’ve been working on collecting my poems and short stories, and I’ve been enjoying hearing them read to me by my five.

Speaking of which – and I feel very emotional when I recall this – my five family members, who are also semi-imprisoned here, lavish such unbelievable, unselfish care, that just this afternoon I found myself overwhelmed and blubbing. Fortunately, having so many people to help means that there are times when individuals can go and pursue their lives. I understand this causes some difficulty, as I’m happy to say people seem to want to be close to me all the time. Because of George’s career, he is the most able to be around all the time, poor chap. But the others contend with the duality that my precarious health presents to them. I am so flattered that they feel this way, but try to be insistent that they have no choice but to maintain their careers, and that I am in extremely safe hands.

So, for example, Avani has been awarded a residency on a writing retreat and is in Bulgaria. Arthur is able to get to most of his gigs, and will be in London tonight, and headlining the Brecon jazz festival in Wales later in the week, as well as playing for the wrap-up party for a Hollywood film in Leicester Square. Lisa is in full flight with gigs and her new album launch. And, fortunately, George is able to get on with his writing unimpaired by location.

I am delighted to say that, despite the circumstances, Maria retains Maria. She attends her garden, and the allotment, which has given fruit to the most abundant harvest of courgettes, tomatoes, and no doubt much more to be revealed later in the season. She maintains the workings of our environment meticulously, all the washing, shopping and ordering food, cleaning of the house, and the less pleasant jobs associated with either me or the cats. She’s incredibly busy all day. But actually I think that helps her, even though she gets worn out.

This is without doubt the strangest experience of my life. Although I can still sense that Chris is there, there seem to be a lot of conflicting forces that want to drain Chris away. Although it’s unsettling, it’s not frightening. It just seems slow and long, as I think in 24-hour bouts, rather than in terms of mornings, afternoons, and evenings. For example, my sleeping time I estimate to be between four and nine in the morning. The period immediately before that is a mish-mash of reflections, expectations, frustrations, and if I’m very unlucky, a bit of biliousness.

As I’ve said so many times before, I count myself as exceptionally lucky to have my five seemingly dedicated to giving me as best a time as they possibly can. I love them all so much.