One thing I don’t miss about the many years I spent combining office work with bringing up small children is all the sweat. By that, I mean actual anxiety sweat running down my back while crammed into a London Tube train. I was on a deadline to collect the children from nursery, but always left work too late. Why? Guilt. Everyone else was still at their desks when I snuck out — and we all knew I was a terrible employee.

After spending time with the kids, I’d check my BlackBerry, often working late into the night or on my notional days off.

In fact, what I was doing was flexible working — adjusting my work schedule to fit around my life, rather than being shoehorned into conventional office timings. What was then an unusual working pattern would now be recognised as valid — and, one hopes, would be paid to reflect the many extra hours I spent working at home. But the term and concept were popularised only 20 years ago, not long before I was running for those trains.