I counted myself extremely lucky to have secured a place at the Christmas party with my London colleagues. The animated mix of nationalities and races at our table ate, drank, talked and partied until 05:45.

We only took one break. That was to kiss one another at 02:00. Admittedly this felt strange, but I was told that a drunken rendition of Auld Lang Syne, combined with sentimental snogging at midnight, is considered rather passé in the second decade of the twenty-first century.

I was enjoying myself so much that I’d forgotten the plan to meet my friends for a Sunday 10 o’clock run. This would now be a huge struggle on only four hours of sleep. Even so, perhaps it was time for me to go home? On my way out I collected the left-over peppers on discarded plates to recycle as Christmas decorations. The silver ones would look particularly festive, so long as they didn’t rot too quickly.

Outside it was already light. I crossed the damp grass, making sure to avoid the two bears grazing in the field. SW, who left at the same time as me, ignored all instructions to follow. Instead she approached the brown bear and reached out an arm to pet it. My amazing night of partying was not going to end happily.