Two numbers I can never remember: first, the number of years since I ‘accidentally’ stopped being a Tory and, second, the number of times since then I wished I was still a member so I could quit in disgust.

Still eating Christmas cheese. I’ve come to the point where I feel I’m exuding Époisses from my pores like some sort of ambulant fondue dispenser.

Docklands. Nearly 20 years since I worked here for a bank. And while I tell myself that I’m doing better work in the NHS in our crappy buildings with nine year old computers I couldn’t help feeling a pang of envy for the facilities in and around each of these blocks.