Maybe my identity's been stolen. Or maybe I was sleep-shopping!

When I'm on a break from writing, I'll log on to Amazon and eBay. The doorbell is constantly being rung by deliverymen.

Becky! Love!" Mum has pushed her way through her dancing guests to reach me. "What's wrong? Has labor started?" Honestly. My family has no idea about contemporary urban street dance trends.

Emma, I'm sorry, I can't help you. This is a disaster. You're completely vulnerable. It's like going into battle in a nightie.

We’re on this planet for too short a time. And at the end of the day, what’s more important? Knowing that a few meaningless figures balanced—or knowing that you were the person you wanted to be?

I've never felt so bereft and panicky. What do I do without my phone? How do I function? My hand keeps automatically reaching for my phone in its usual place in my pocket. Every instinct in me wants to text someone, 'OMG, I've lost my phone! ' but how can do that without a bloody phone?

I never did any training in journalism or in finance, so I really was in the deep end. I got very good at going to press conferences and nodding. I'd figure it out when I got back to the office. Charts and numbers. I've never been great with facts, ever, my whole life. For a journalist, that's not a very good trait.