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，一個穿著不合身西裝的25歲年輕人開始在英國《金融時報》工作。我之前的準備是一場令人沮喪的四個月培訓課程，地點在一個死氣沉沉的前海濱度假勝地，每天早上醒來時都覺得自己比前一天更愚蠢，但工作更糟糕。大樓的窗戶無法打開，食堂的午餐令人作嘔。午后不久，天就黑了，此時我意識到有些成年人在冬季工作日從未見過陽光。
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