I have always been a keen baker.  My attempted journey from hopeless to Hollywood (Paul) started age 11, baking batches of cheese scones for my family.  They were obliged to force them down and make encouraging noises despite them being chemically indistinguishable from glue.  The arrival of kids of my own meant new forays into the world of cakes and the production of several buttercream heavy creations that no one of sound mind or steady hand would recreate.    Cakes of Infamy (which by the way would make a great name for a board game) include an Octonauts cake that looked like I was trying to recreate “The One Where Kwazi Kitten Falls Into A Volcano And Gets Melted” and a Fireman Sam cake where I had to resort to printing out a picture of Fireman Sam to stick on top of the cake after my attempt to render him from fondant icing left him looking like it was him who needed to call the emergency services.

In 2012 I had a job as a Senior Associate in one of the top five law firms in the UK, advising a host of multinational companies on high profile environmental law matters.   I had an impressive shiny office in the heart of Spitalfields Market, my own PA and a six figure salary that meant I could comfortably afford to shop in Whistles during my lunch break, go on nice holidays and invest in a pension.  But I was miserable. I had returned to work after having my first son and was regularly leaving the office at 5:30pm, picking him up, putting him to bed and then logging on to do another 4 or 5 hours work on corporate deals which left me feeling that I was making little or no difference to the world my son would grow up in.   My boss was a nice guy but wanted someone who could be in the office day and night if he needed them and he flatly refused to entertain the idea of me working from home even one day a week in case it “ set a precedent”.