I have finally emerged from my self-imposed purdah and feel awash with free time. For the past month I have been working not just at my day job but on a creative project during the evenings and weekends. It is over but it has made me question that thorny notion of satisfaction: are you ever satisfied with your own work? I know the vogue now is for people to talk blithely of giving 110 per cent, an expression that infuriates me. I have to resist pointing out that it is impossible to give 110 per cent and that the expression “giving 100 per cent” serves to illustrate that you are giving the maximum.

In the realm of creativity I’m never entirely satisfied, always believing I can hone a sentence, refine an expression, better shape a paragraph. In the sphere of property I’m less critical, perhaps because I’m not the architect of the property. There are several flats I’ve seen recently that I would happily live in. For me, a view is paramount, preferably over open green spaces; high ceilings; a terrace, just big enough for me and one other to sit outside and enjoy the FT on sunny autumnal mornings; a sitting room that could stretch to having 10 for supper; a location that suits my work; natural light flooding the flat; a quiet location, and that’s about it. It’s not the most fastidious of lists and I have nearly all that where I live now but no terrace, so I’m on a vague hunt, or rather, like the most frustrating of my clients, I’m prepared to be tempted.