The Financial Times occupies an audaciously undistinguished building on the fringes of the City, in which the carpet tiles are coffee-stained, functional desks are arranged in lines and mice roam freely.

Yet to me the office is entirely satisfactory as it has each of the four things I mind about most. There are interesting people to talk to; a desk of my own that I can keep as tidy or messy as I like; a location easy to get to on a bicycle and a man on the door who says “hello, Lucy” every time I go in.