‘Where did all this come from?’ I ask the empty room.

Then I spot an envelope propped up against the wall near the kitchen’s electrical sockets. Ripping it open, I find that it’s a ‘new home’ card from the removals company.

‘Dear Ms Morton,’ I read aloud. ‘Thanks for using Bridgeton Removals. We hope you had a smooth journey. Thought you’d appreciate not having to visit the supermarket as soon as you arrive. All the best for the future.’

In perfect synchrony, my stomach emits a hungry grumble. I cross the room and place the card proudly on my round glass dining table.

‘How nice is that?’ I continue my conversation with the empty room. ‘Probably the only card I’ll get.’

Digging a plate, a mug and some cutlery out of the brown cardboard box marked ‘kitchen crockery’, I give them a quick wash and make myself a cheese sandwich, which I hungrily wolf down with a cup of tea. Then I look around at the brown packing boxes and feel immediately exhausted. There’s no way I’m dealing with them now. Instead, I go through to my bedroom, make up my bed and switch on my small flat-screen TV, which the removals men have helpfully tuned for me. Lying back, I start watching a film that’s just begun, but it’s not long before my eyelids start to feel heavy, so admitting defeat, I climb under the covers and allow myself to drift off.

Having arranged not to start at my new job until midweek, I spend the next few days unpacking and familiarising myself with my new surroundings. This includes basics such as finding the closest supermarket and testing out the walk to my new office, as well as the essential task of signing up with a GP – something my neurologist suggested I do immediately, so I can access help quickly should I need it.

Being a high-calibre example of life’s ‘doers’, my natural instinct is to rush around like a hummingbird seeking nectar, getting everything done as quickly as possible. But, aware of my limitations and the potential to set myself back, I force myself to work at a reduced pace. This doesn’t come easily, and on several occasions, I find myself starting to flag the way I did at the station. While I’m becoming more attuned to the warning signs, it seems that only when I’m hanging by my fingernails do I take proper notice. It will take practice to learn to hit the brakes sooner, but at least I’m no longer soaring off the cliff edge Thelma and Louise style.

By the time my first day at my new job comes round, I’m properly settled and ready to get going with my new career challenge. As I stand in front of my full-length mirror, assessing the suitability of my ‘day one’ outfit, I’m a jangle of nerves and anticipation. This is where my brand-new start really begins. No more awkward conversations and pitying looks. No more being kept away from tasks considered too challenging for me while my boss tries to dress the alternative up as a ‘development opportunity’. I will just be Alex, the experienced project manager who’s moved down from Glasgow. Full stop.