Dressed in thin cotton boxer shorts, I arrived back at work after the Christmas holiday to find that someone had moved my desk into a shabby shared office with FR, IB, IH and SS. Here it was freezing cold, the paintwork was peeling, the electricity cables were exposed, and the ceiling looked as if it was about to fall in.

The room was a death trap and we couldn’t possibly remain there. I volunteered to organise a further move.

In the meantime, however, there was work to be done. I helped CFS beef up a grant proposal, and waited hours with PC for a meeting in a corridor with AD and another colleague.

Nobody commented on my new office attire, but I knew that they had noticed it.