9.38 am
The rain streaking down my windows has turned the outside world into an Escher-like blur of mis-matched corners and impossible angles. I sit in front of the glowing monitor, hands cupped around a steaming mug of tea, watching the raindrops hurl themselves violently against the glass. Days like this it is almost impossible to believe in the crocuses and daffodils pushing up out of the soft spring soil.

11.12 am
My days fall into a pattern. I get into the office and spend the first hour checking websites, news articles, correspondence from Washington for anything relevant. A few hours of work and then my hour in the gym. Lunch. A few more hours of work in the afternoon, sometimes broken by a conference call or a meeting. It surprises me how tightly I cling to this pattern, how I feel as though I am unraveling when part of it falls out of place. Mornings especially – days when the computer system is down I am uncertain how to start my day without having first checked the news.

4.07 pm
Tuesdays pass so slowly, the ticking of the second hand scarcely muffled by the documents piled around my desk.