Last Wednesday, I arrived at the office to find I'd left my keys at home so could not lock up my bike. Later, I interviewed Lord Browne over lunch and afterwards couldn't find the tag I had been given for my coat. And then, on the way back, I started drafting the interview in my head and missed my stop on the tube.

All three mishaps took time out of the day and were bad for morale, but at least I did the first and last unobserved. The second was done with the former head of BP quietly watching as I squatted on the floor of the restaurant and rummaged in vain through the squalid contents of my handbag.

These small lapses took place against the background of a much bigger lapse. For hours last Wednesday (and on most other days too) I sat at my desk feeling that I was hard at work, whereas what I was actually doing was e-mailing, looking up random things on Google, reading assorted blogs and talking to people. I faffed and dithered, and ended up writing what I had to write in a mad, headlong dash.