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Putting the rubbish out this morning, something stirred memories within. Perhaps it was the misty fog, the sight of the sparkling dew on the spiderwebs, the coolness of the morning air, or the freshness that descends after heavy rain.

From nowhere at all, I found myself transported twenty-three years back in time, recalling my hurried daily traipse to Hanwell station to catch a train to Maidenhead for work. From my lodgings, the station was only a five-minute walk, from rundown housing estate to that lovely leafy street, but timekeeping was never my forte then.

On the other end, a ten-minute taxi drive from Maidenhead station to offices on the edge of Stubbings Estate awaited me. Door to door — factoring in delays and waits — the journey often took an hour and a half in those days. But it was my first job after university and some kind of foot in the door. It didn’t matter a great deal then that there wasn’t much pay left over once travel and rent was deducted.

It was beautiful place to work, anyway, set in the open Berkshire countryside. It wasn’t a graduate job — I have never had one of those — but it put me in the right place at the right time for a while. Later on, I’d get a hire car — a diminutive Vauxhall Corsa — carrying me daily up and down the M4 in heavy rush hour traffic, cutting through the backstreets of Southall en route.

Eventually I’d get a car of my own, coinciding with my temporary job turning permanent. No, not a luxury coupé in celebration: just a low mileage, second-hand Ford Fiesta, which later on my first and second marriage to the same person served as my wedding carriage, white ribbon attached to the bonnet. Fear not, I did hire a silver Mercedes for my walima.

What strange times those were, setting out into the world on my own. That job didn’t last very long unfortunately. Two years, at most, only to come tumbling down with World Trade Centre, as those shocking events plunged the economy into free fall. I am sure many a graduate just starting out in their careers were likewise derailed by the recession that followed. I spent the next couple of years juggling freelancing with working in cafés.

I suppose it’s good to remember the journey to the present. Perhaps it will make us more grateful for where we find ourselves today. In my career — if we can call it that — I have missed having any kind of clear steer: the kind of mentoring we believe awaits bright young graduates as they set out into work. In the end, I just had to take whatever I could to bring home a stable income.

By the mercy of God, two decades on I have a role which largely pleases me, blending multiple functions into one. Looking back on the journey here, I can’t really complain at all. For one thing: no early morning treks to the train station, for a tiresome commute into the office.

Nope, just a brief saunter in the garden, marvelling at the perfect spiderwebs crystallised by morning dew, breathing the clean, fresh air, prior to the commute back up the stairs to sit before my gargantuan monitors to manage all I survey. A busy day awaits me.