When I left the lobby of the the modern tower block to cross the busy road, I shuddered as the cold of the paving slabs hit the soles of my feet. There was no time to take the lift back up the building to search for my shoes on the floor that now hosted my old department, so I continued on my way to the restaurant with the intention of buying a cheap replacement pair of shoes en route.

The first mini-mart that I saw offered cheap flip-flops and slippers for sale. I grabbed a pair from the rack and was about to pay for them when I remembered that my own shoes were in my rucksack. I apologised to the shopkeeper and continued on my way, my feet now properly clod.

The restaurant was very quiet as a venue for the staff Christmas party. At one table there were three people seated, but all the rest were empty. MS called me over to join him and the two others, explaining that only four people had signed up for the celebration.

Then he unbuttoned the left cuff of his shirt, and rolled up his sleeve. With great pride, he showed off the start of his latest tattoo. Even though it was unfinished, I could easily identify the outline of an unhusked corn cob.