Like any freelance writer I’ve taken on some tough gigs. I wrote a book about Paris Hilton. I interviewed the hardman footballer Julian Dicks, surrounded by his panting English Bull Terriers. Even more dangerously, I’ve argued for veganism in the pages of The Spectator. But I recently got the most challenging commission of all: my Dad asked me to write a eulogy for my Mum, who has passed away. 

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Naturally, I was honoured. The speech gave shape to my grief and, when I delivered it at the funeral, I felt like I was speaking directly to her. Everybody wants to say the ‘right thing’ at a funeral, so it was a blessing to be given a focal point to do so. 

But I was also terrified. It’s intimidating to reduce any life to 700 words, let alone the life of your own mother. Every time I thought I had finished, I began to doubt the whole thing. Then I had to overcome my nerves and read it on the saddest day of my life. As I stood up in the church, two thoughts came to mind. What if I cry? What if........

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