It would be fair to say I am not unfamiliar with the P45. I'm not an easy person to manage and I don't like to be supervised. Over the years, with some difficulty, I made a concerted effort to become a better employee, managing to attain a discipline and tolerance of office life that for so long I'd lacked in the 9 to 5 world.

Arguably my P45 heyday was in the early noughties. In the summer of 2000, I found myself kicked off one job for refusing to take part in a role-playing exercise. I was never big on role-playing. Let me be clear, of all the P45s, I stand by that one more than any other. I want to go to my grave maintaining my record of never having gone to a fancy dress party, done karaoke or got involved in any role-playing.

A couple of summers later, I managed to get sacked twice on the same morning. The first - genuine P45 - saw me escorted off the premises of a lowly data entry job whilst wearing a rather striking white bowling shirt and a pair of white chinos that in a dramatic veering away from the office shirt and tie dress code, I’d taken to wearing after the anti-depressants I was on after losing my mum had kicked in. As I was chaperoned out of the building that morning carrying all of my belongings in a box like Don Johnson when he was kicked off the force (Kid Cop, Ep: 246, May ’91), I was mistaken for a member of the building’s catering staff by the catering team’s manager. Seeing me well away from the kitchen, he fired me on the spot for ‘slacking’, and I found myself losing a job I never even had.

Mine has always been a face that doesn’t flush easily. Throw into the mix the multiple rhinoplasties tightening the skin around my nose, and people are often hard pushed to read my thoughts. There have been times when sacked that because of that apparently non-plussed expression, the sacking has had to be delivered a second time because it was assumed I’d never heard them fire me first time around.