Working from home with the Siberian hamsters

WORKING from home means a lot of time to stare distractedly out the window, wondering why you are here, what your purpose is, and whether your team will get out of the relegation zone before it’s too late.

What is the point of existence, and will Sam Taylor Wood make a decent go of Fifty Shades of Grey? What happens when we die, and when will someone invent a vegan cheese that doesn’t taste of compressed flip-flops.

It is during one such bout of chin-in-hand contemplation, eyes gazing unfocused in the direction of the garden shed, that my reverie is interrupted by something visually unexpected. What is that scurrying movement? That furry, pointy-nosed manoeuvre? What is this emerging nimbly from under the shed, sitting up and sniffing the air?