Today is a day that should be loathed.

It is cold; the leaves have given up all attempts at survival and have fluttered brown and crisp into the mud, leaving their arboreal hosts gnarled and withered like hags against a grim backdrop.

The clouds have settled low, blanketing the hill around our office and compressing the perpetual drizzle into a moist facade.

My limbs ache from an over-zealous trip to the gym and my to-do list rivals a role of Andrex in length.

Despite this, it feels like a Sunday: the office is cozy and Mariza is oozing out of the speakers and when fado plays, one can’t help but relinquish all angst and bimble through this most autumnal of days.

And with some Khaled and Souad Massi in the mail, it gets better all the time.