I sleep so well, I could win an Olympic gold medal for sleeping. Many people would find that hard to believe, with the business I’m in. I’m usually awake by 9, or earlier if there’s been a kiss and tell in the morning papers and TV or radio want an interview. I’ll glance at the papers while Jo and I have breakfast. I love food, but since being diagnosed with early prostate cancer in October, I watch what I eat. So I start the day with freshly juiced wheatgrass, which is meant to be good for the immune system, as is the pomegranate juice I wash it down with and the cranberries I put on my muesli. I’ve even started using rice milk.

Luckily, I’ve always loved sport , so as well as playing tennis three or four times a week, I cycle over to Louise’s house every morning for a swim. My daughter’s got an indoor heated pool, and, as she lives on the other side of the park, I can be there in eight minutes. Exercise is crucial for her because when she was 6 she was diagnosed with juvenile chronic rheumatoid arthritis. She’s had a hip replacement, several knee replacements and a rod inserted down her back. She’s also had a kidney transplant, because the drugs she was taking damaged her kidneys. Carers help her at home, and, now she works for my company, a driver brings her into the office every day. She’s an amazing girl.

Around 11.30, Jo and I will drive into Weybridge or Cobham for a coffee to map out the day. Three days a week, she works as a volunteer at The Chase, a children’s hospice in Guildford, and three days a week I go into the office. A driver picks me up and by the time I get into the West End, it’s lunchtime, so I’ll often order something from the organic cafe round the corner. Today, I had a salad with tuna, prawns and bean sprouts.

Things are always hectic in the office, but I’ve got a great team, and it never stops being stimulating, funny and often ridiculous. Kiss-and-tell stories, like the Rebecca Loos one, are a small part of my PR work. Clients range from names like Simon Cowell to property people in the Caribbean. Stories about politicians, film stars and footballers often put you at the centre of the media game, where you can exert influence. If papers want one of my stories, I might want them to write something on a client in return.

The thing is, I might break one explosive story, but maybe 20 others I stop — not for money but because the person in question doesn’t deserve it. Some of the nicest people I know are serial adulterers. I’m not interested in destroying their careers to make 20 grand — I couldn’t look at myself. On the other hand, when you get the hypocrisy of a party leader or a cabinet member lecturing the nation on family values, well, that’s a different matter.

I’ve been in this business 40 years and I think from an early age I had a sense I was in charge of my own destiny. I left school at 15 and I got my first job in a department store. But I hated all the snobbish customers and was cocky one too many times, so I got the sack. By chance I was down at my local pool — I was a keen water-polo player — and got chatting to the sports editor of the local paper. He ended up offering me a trainee reporter’s job, which led to my own record column, which led me to join EMI’s press office. I worked with people like Sinatra and was given unknown bands like the Beatles to promote. I was naturally competitive and inventive — and deceitful if need be — so I did well. By 27 I’d set up my own PR company.

I like being my own boss. I don’t have to suck up to anyone. And I like being in control. I’d control the weather if I could. At times I’m too confident for my own good, opinionated and headstrong — the sort of person who thinks they know better. But then I’m also emotional. I like the underdog. I have to help people and I do a lot of charity. I’m probably a combination of Mum and Dad. Dad was a man of principle, came from a wealthy Tory family, but fell out with them and was poorer for it. He was also a gambler. Mum was the heart and soul of the family, the kind who looked after the neighbours, went without if she had to — she even pawned her wedding ring so we’d get by. I was the youngest of four, and home was a little house in Wimbledon, the sort with a tin bath on the back fence. Now I fly around in a private jet and have a brand-new Bentley.

I leave the office about 6 and I like to eat out with Jo or friends or a client. I’ve cut down hugely on red meat, so I eat a lot of fish, with fresh vegetables and fruit. I’ve lost a bit of weight, but then I’d put on quite a bit while I was having the radiotherapy earlier this year. I had 38 treatments, five days a week, at the Cromwell, which has two of the three best machines in the country. And, touch wood and whistle, other than a little tiredness, I’ve had little in the way of side effects. I’m not saying the whole thing hasn’t been hairy, especially having lost my wife, Liz, to lung cancer just five years ago, but I’m optimistic and life is absolutely great right now.

I usually get home about 9.30, and Jo and I will chat about the day before turning in for the night. Summing me up is easy. On my headstone, which I hope won’t be in place for at least another 50 years, it would have to say: “He got an awful lot out and he put an awful lot back”. That would do it perfectly.

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