I was at my suburban call centre desk this morning, for the first time in a long time. Despite my work email signature containing its address, it's a place I'd managed to avoid thanks to mainly working in town close to a client as well as at home post surgery. My abandoned, half-full water bottle had tiny green algae growing at the bottom of it.

I left at lunchtime. On my way out I saw through the open door of one of the only offices left inside this sprawling open plan prairie. I'm not sure which executive still ranked high enough to deserve this retreat. Inside was a desk and a whiteboard, the latter plastered with my companies slogans printed on A4 paper. And I thought to myself: "Whoever works in there clearly doesn't have much to explain."