The Ides of February, and the London gloom and rain continue with a high of 59 degrees. Or 15°C, which looks less satisfying. The sun goes down at 5:17pm, and there’s a full moon tonight. All my little routines and ablutions get blown to bits whenever I travel, and soon I’m pacing the floors at three o’clock in the morning, trying to remember who I am and what I do.

I keep colliding with people in the streets and shops. I just can’t pick up the rhythm here. In New York, there’s a dance, a perpetual flow of pedestrians veering to the right, and if you stop to look at your phone or admire a window display, you’ll get killed or shamed. But here, people plant themselves in the concrete, taking deep root and not budging. Or they make a bee-line for me, inviting me to a game of chicken. Yesterday I had a theory: if people drive on the left, perhaps they also walk on the left. But no, I’m still getting out of everyone’s way. The problem is me. And I should get my own house in order rather than casting sinister motives on innocent Londoners. At least I’m finally a morning person in Eastern Standard Time.