On January 9 1995, a gormless 25-year-old in a bad suit started work at the Financial Times. My preparation had been a degrading four-month training course in a dead former seaside resort, where I woke up each morning feeling dumber than the day before, but work was worse. The building’s windows didn’t open. Canteen lunch was revolting. When darkness fell in mid-afternoon, I realised that some adults never experienced sunlight on winter weekdays.
1995年1月9日，一个穿着不合身西装的25岁年轻人开始在英国《金融时报》工作。我之前的准备是一场令人沮丧的四个月培训课程，地点在一个死气沉沉的前海滨度假胜地，每天早上醒来时都觉得自己比前一天更愚蠢，但工作更糟糕。大楼的窗户无法打开，食堂的午餐令人作呕。午后不久，天就黑了，此时我意识到有些成年人在冬季工作日从未见过阳光。
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