It's still dark outside when I set up the laptop in the kitchen extension. This hutch of brick and plaster is going to be my world for the next nine hours. At this time of the morning, the house is quiet apart from the gurgling of water in the central heating and the rattling of the slats on the extractor fan. It takes me a few minutes to plug in the mouse, the headphones and the power brick. Then I list down and push the button to turn the computer on.

The laptop comes to life, its fans whirring softly deep within its case. I enter my password - one, two, three, four times - and the system lets me in. Windows spring open on the screen, showing my emails, the list of tasks for the day, the others in my team who are online. And then I set to work. It isn't long before the laptop chimes and a notification appears on my desktop: incoming call. I accept it.

"Hey. What's up?" I try to sound bright and cheerful, but it's hard to pull it off so early in the day. It's a good thing my webcam doesn't work.

"I've got something I want to show you," comes the reply. "Can I share my screen with you?"

My mood lifts slightly. "Go on." Human contact and a challenge already? Have I caught a break? "Share away," I say.

The laptop screen lights up. A cursor moves, guided by a distant hand, and highlights two graphs. "It's these. There's something wr-o-o-o- ." The image freezes; the audio stream breaks up and falls silent.

I waggle my mouse and curse, but it does no good. I've lost the connection.