I’m on Victoria Embankment, head down, hands gripping the drop handlebars, legs pumping. Despite everything my brain returns to my work. The Daily Mail, on the right, and the Sentinel, on the left, will be furious to be scooped on a story that will probably lead News at Ten on both channels. Why can’t I switch off? An ex-girlfriend once described me as a shark. I thought she meant a remorseless and unpredictable killer, metaphorically speaking, and I took offence. It turned out she was talking about my obsession with work. You are always swimming, always chasing the next story. You’re terrified that if you stop swimming, you will die.

For the past half mile I’ve barely registered any cars. But as I pass the Savoy Hotel’s riverside entrance, I hear a rattling engine. A glance back reveals a filthy white van – a Ford Transit – about a hundred yards away. I instinctively touch my bike helmet and move to the left of the road to give the van room. Instead of thanks, I get a long beep on the horn.

The van comes up behind, keeping pace with my furious peddling, so close I can almost feel its heat. Why doesn’t it overtake? Beep beep. I slow to let it past. But before the brakes have done their job, the van accelerates, overtaking inches to my right. I swerve, clip the kerb, put my left foot down on the ground. I stay upright. Just.

The van roars away. I hear the sound of raucous laughter from the front seat. Cunts. I don’t move for perhaps a minute.

I’m alone and shaking. Nothing happened, I tell myself, I’m fine. But I need a minute to compose myself before cycling on. There is a way to distract myself.

Leaning the bike against a street sign, I sit on the kerb and punch a memorised number into the Nokia.

‘FC. How can I direct your call?’

‘Copy, please.’

‘Who shall I say is calling.’

‘It’s Gil. Gil Peck.’

‘Hi, Gil. Putting you through now.’

Then: ‘Copydesk.’

‘Gil Peck here.’

‘Hello, Gil, it’s Sheila. Bit early in the day for you. All OK?’

She doesn’t really expect a response, but my disingenuous reaction is automatic. ‘Never been better.’

‘Good to hear. Give me a moment while I create a new file . . . OK, go.’

Although I have only had a few fitful moments of dozing in the waiting room, the adrenaline and cortisol has pumped me up. My voice does not stumble or hesitate as I dictate.