I cannot imagine going without my cinq a sept in the same way that I cannot conceive of ever leaving the morning tube and going straight to the office without an hour long pause riffling through the paper in a coffee shop in the bowels of the City. The two bookend the working day for me.

The coffee shop routine is self-explanatory, but cinq a sept ? It's a mythic period in the French working day - when the average Frenchman traditionally leaves the workplace and wanders over to spend an hour or so with his mistress. Enough time to woo, satisfy, part gracefully and then stroll home for the evening meal.

No mistress me. My cinq a sept is different. It's my buffer between downing tools at the end of the day and finally reaching home. Transition time out of one space and slowly, subtly into another. Coffee shops again, idle hours in an art gallery, or library, something on these lines. I love it.