This time last week, I would have had well over twenty minutes to get from Studio A to Studio B. I might even have had time to stop into the Green Room for a cup of tea and a Hob Nob between my radio and television reports.
But not anymore. I can still just about fit in a very small carton of orange juice, but I have to drink it on the move, without breaking stride.
The exchange rate's worse than ever today - the minute's gone right down against the minuto. In Italy and Spain, they could fit in a three course meal in the time it takes for us to lay the table.
The Americans, the Australians and even the French are in the same boat as us, though, with their variously pronounced units of time. We all need to make it up somewhere. Maybe two-year degrees are the answer.
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