One early February evening, in the early 'noughties', I left my office in one of London Canary Wharf's more prominent buildings and headed to an old-fashioned style wine bar along the waterside. I was in my early forties, exhausted by a career that I had never really planned but which on the face of it was going quite well: I had to work harder than many because it didn't come naturally to me. I was married to a doctor wi...