The email from HR told me to make sure that I arrived before ten. Obviously I’m outside the Hudson Media building at 8.27, hollow boned from the evening’s relaxing four-hour sleep, drenched in a cloud of caffeine, eyelids vibrating. Today is the first day of the rest of my life, I think, trying to stride and glide through the revolving doors, before chinning myself on heavy glass, looking up and seeing one of the security guys shaking his head, waving his hands and gesturing to the ‘Emergency Access’ door on the right. The one that’s already open. Ah. Keeping my head down, I plod through reception. Did he just mutter ‘fucking idiot’? Surely not, it must have been the wind.

The next disappointment is the office itself. It’s silly, really, what else could I have been expecting? I’ve been into this building so many times—not just to make coffee and hand out the post at Panache, but to steam clothes, answer phones and get shouted at by staffers at Women’s Monthly, Steam, Fizz, Clutch, Nearer and You and Your Yacht.

Anyway, I know the ‘fading Edwardian grandeur’ of the Hudson building is now invisible to the naked eye. In places, it’s quite sad and shabby, draughty and drab. But I thought Harri would have worked a little magic on our corner of it, or at least bagged a half decent space for us. This is a nook. An anti-fashion cupboard. I would bet my brand new salary on it being the place where brooms used to be kept.

There’s a long, thin window, in the farthest corner from the door. It seems to look out onto a murky stairwell. If I lean and squint, I can almost see the ankles of the people passing the building—you’d have to get up and press your face against it in order to actually see anything of the outside world. We’re above ground, but barely. Still, someone has tried their best with the neon signage. HEY, SEXY! screams the space over the door. GOOD VIBES ONLY blurs blue, opposite. And most chillingly of all, in the space beside what I assume is Harri’s desk—it has the biggest, shiniest computer on it—you’re invited to CREATE YOUR OWN REALITY. I think this is how cults start. A few nights ago, I got caught in a sleepless YouTube hole and watched a truly creepy documentary about the Peoples Temple and the Jonestown massacre. That’s what happens when someone thinks they can create their own reality.

Compliant vibes only.