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Standing on a doorstep in the icy cold last night, collecting our son from his study club, a friend recounted his evening commute home.

His tales of a long wait for a train in the freezing evening air stirred memories within. Of those painful winter evenings at Paddington Station twenty years ago, waiting for a train to carry me home.

And then of the one day in the office a week a decade ago, driving 40 miles cross country and back just to make my presence felt. It never really seemed worth it, given how slow the network connection in the office was, and how hard it was to find a desk.

This the perspective forgotten when comparing my career progression to that of peers, with their seemingly inexorable ascent. To join their world might mean a return to regular commutes like that, daily or weekly, to an office in London or a neighbouring regional town.

Whatever might be said about resting on my laurels, or a lack of ambition, I feel that my current arrangements suit me well. It is easy to forget those past experiences when contemplating making a change.

Do I really want to return to that way of life for the sake of a pay rise or some sense of prestige? I can’t say it appeals to me very much. Certainly not in the middle of winter, recalling the biting cold of commutes gone by.