Even as I write this, it's probably happening somewhere: a car boot popped open, then the sound of wheeled suitcase being dragged across a drab car park towards an anonymous hotel.

Grim, cheerless, disspiriting. It's the "Away from home. late-night meals in tired restaurants, bleary-eyed, bloodshot breakfasts in featureless chain hotels, the drive out to the ring road, then the turn off on to the slip road for the business park, and finally the office" soundtrack that swirls around so many us week in week out. Certainly did last week in my case.

I hate living out of suitcase. We're fast becoming a nation of business nomads. Caravans of wheeled suitcases pulled along railway station concourses, airports, and endless office receptions, led by wan-faced people yakking wearily into mobiles. How noble an enterprise.