When I stopped watching, listening, reading and doomscrolling constantly, I no longer felt I was banging my head against a brick wall

For as long as I can remember, I have been addicted to broadcast news. At least, I used to be. I would wake up to the babble of Radio 4’s Today programme and for the rest of the day subject myself to a bombardment of destabilising sound effects from the Middle East, Trumpland, PMQs and the odd shouty phone-in.

It was a habit that was formed long before I became a journalist. My father, a doctor, was a devoted consumer of current affairs. “What’s happening?” he would ask at breakfast. If you started to tell him about your plans for the day, he would listen politely and then say: “I meant, what’s happening in the world?”