I’ll admit it straight away: I didn’t last the whole week. Sometime on Friday evening I switched the radio on (5 Live) and heard two journalists talking to each other outside Westminster. Neither of them had a clue what had just happened, or was about to happen.

Like giving up anything (Facebook, checking Twitter, alcohol), the first few hours were the worst. I needn’t have worried. I received vicarious updates from family and colleagues and felt strangely emptier and fuller of Brexit at the same time.

What I really missed were the podcasts: checking in with The Westminster Hour (Radio 4, Sunday night) first thing on Monday morning while waiting for the kettle to boil; beetling off to the other end of the house for another fix of Brexitcast.

And the online stuff. Anything that moves in the Guardian. The Mainly Macro blog. The Brexit Effect. And the radio at lunch, and then again at 5.00.

I missed it all.

But after a day or two, this fell away. I found myself concentrating on other things, the annihilation of the planet for instance. It was quite relaxing.

Instead I listened for the millionth time to The Return of the Durutti Column and the peerless New Grass by Talk Talk. I discovered that there is lot more news that stays news in New Grass than there is in the news.

I broke my fast proper on Sunday by buying and reading an actual newspaper. (Whatever anyone tells you, there is a qualitative difference between paper and screen reading.)  I am still reading it. And quoting large chunks of it to anyone who will listen.

A week on (I am writing this on Monday evening, before the House of Commons’ latest round of votes), and we are no nearer to finding out what will happen. I may watch it on the news. I may not. I do feel I have a choice. Apparently I am more fun to be around without it.