At the end of every day these items can be found on my desk at work: a large cardboard cup containing a residue of cold, brownish milk; a bag with grease marks and Danish pastry crumbs stuck to it; at least one empty can of Diet Coke; a wrapper that once contained an egg and cress sandwich; a banana skin and an empty Maltesers packet.

For more than a decade I have been a devotee of dining al desko and have defended the practice to anyone who attacks it. I enjoy eating at my desk. Frequent visits to the vending machine punctuate the day and serve equally well for reward, for consolation and for an energy boost.

Last week I gave it all up. A visitor to the office would now find no trace of food on my desk, only a bone china cup, washed up and left neatly by my keyboard.