“Babe, why are you doing laps of the flat?” It was a fair question, so why did it feel like Jeremy Paxman was asking me repeatedly whether I’d threatened to overrule Derek Lewis? I tried not to answer. The truth would only lead to more questions, but by this stage, toothpaste was dribbling down my cheek and my options were running out.
“I’m only 350 steps from hitting my target,” I said, aiming for insouciance but almost certainly stumbling on disturbed. You see, this is what happens when you subcontract your emotional well-being to a steps app.
