Strangely I got temporarily used to the jet lag while I was in China because I stayed awake for the entire two-leg journey out there – I was so exhausted by the time I arrived that I easily slept straight the night (and my alarm the next morning). Once I was a bit more refreshed my internal body clock had a little more trouble keeping things on the straight and narrow.

It’s such a funny thing isn’t it, to be able to travel so quickly and efficiently to the other side of the world, to a place that’s so other that your own body is allergic to being there. Our brains tell us that we don’t belong, and it lends the whole experience a muted air, makes you feel slightly removed from what’s in front of you.

The travel day yesterday blew my mind – it was my brother’s birthday, but I messaged him just after midnight in China even though it was early evening the day before as far as he was concerned. I’m surprised that more birthday hounds don’t use Pacific time to extend their celebrations by an hour or 12. I realised at some point that my Monday was going to be a 31-hour day, taking off at 11am in China and landing at 6.45pm in the UK on the same day after 14 hours in the air.

But thank goodness I’m back in my right time – I had a good night’s sleep, said hello to the cat (she pretended not to know who I was, but that’s just one of her little jokes), and enjoyed a familiar cup of coffee this morning as I contemplated my mortality. And the wash basket. At least I expect to live long enough to get these two loads washed and on the line. Anything after that is a bonus – gifted time, if you will.