Hello. This man has been feeling, well, sorry for himself.

This email is a day late, which isn't so bad in the grand scheme of newsletters. But most of my week has been a write-off due to a particularly unpleasant stomach bug. It began ominously on Wednesday afternoon as I gamely tried to stay logged into work video calls, and by that evening I was able to describe in minute detail the tiling pattern of our bathroom floor.

The nadir came on Friday morning, where I had spent my second night in a row sleeping on the sofa (to spare my partner from constant night-time disturbance). I heard the now-familiar crash on the floorboards from the room above which signified my almost-five-year-old son erupting from sleep. As his feet padded down the stairs towards me I groggily looked at my phone to see just how early this wake-up call was happening.

He bounded into the room, flicking on the light as I writhed and grimaced, and it turned out he'd come prepared. He pointed his kid's tablet at me, armed with his newly-discovered camera app, and took a photo of me at perhaps my lowest ebb of the year so far:

Twelve years ago today, I climbed out of a taxi in Menlo Park, California and was greeted by a large billboard featuring the ubiquitous blue thumb of the Facebook logo, whose head office we were there to visit. This was my first experience of visiting the "campus" of a big tech firm: previously I'd been to satellite offices in smaller countries which didn't feel like the real thing. As I scanned around the set of buildings peppered with busy-looking computer nerds, I could feel the excitement tingling within me.

I'd permanently deleted my Facebook profile just a few months before, which made things quite challenging when building a Facebook app as part of my then-job. I'd already decided that the social network did more harm than good, and wanted no part in it.

Walking into the main building, however, was a severe test of my faith: look at this place. Graffiti lined every wall (with pens for you to add your own). Classic video game machines punctuated corridors; break rooms with wall-to-wall free snacks and beverages were everywhere. There were vending machines selling Apple accessories and skateboards to take you to your next meeting so you could literally move fast and break things. And did I mention the free canteen?

A "man cave" is a bit embarrassing, isn't it? There are various other euphemisms for these spaces where men go to escape their wives, hide from the kids, indulge in their nerdy hobbies, or just drink from a secret booze stash and watch questionable YouTube videos (pick your favourite stereotype!). But the concept of having a separate space from the main family home in order to indulge in some activity seems to be a well-known one.

They have some historical origins: Theodore Roosevelt had his "trophy room" for displaying hunting taxidermy work; Mark Twain had his Billiard Room which was his preferred writing location. There are a bunch of others too listed on this page which I definitely didn't just google before writing this paragraph.

The point is: men seem to need a separate space for ourselves and our silly little hobbies. Women seem to need this too so perhaps this is just a human universal: we all need a little spot we can disappear to and recharge.

I remember reading somewhere that playing Tetris could be used to avoid post-traumatic stress disorder. According to research, people who played a game of the famous block-wrangling classic were able to avoid forming painful memories of car accidents if they played within six hours of arriving at hospital.

I decided to put it to the test this week after a challenging day at work. Now before this sets alarm bells ringing, I'm not suggesting my day job puts me at risk of PTSD. It was really just a long day: lots of heavy meetings and planning around big topics (pay, promotions, performance... all the juicy ones) and this is always a bit draining. Trying to decompress after all this, I thought I'd give Tetris a go.

I searched the app store and avoided the official one which was laden with advertising and looked too, well, modern. I wanted something that evoked the classic Tetris feel and eventually found "Brick Game", which carefully avoided any mention of the T-word but was close enough to what I was after. I downloaded it and played for a while.

Another brick in the wall

I celebrated sixteen years with my partner Madeleine this week, a number so mind-bogglingly large that we had to count on our fingers to ensure we'd definitely worked it out correctly (look, we're tired parents). We got together at university when we were 21, and looking back at that era now, I can't stop myself from thinking about what children we were.

I was definitely a child back then; perhaps on the cusp of being a man child. In my second year of university I found myself isolated from my housemates and lonely, spending my considerable amount of free time staying up till ungodly hours posting on internet music messageboards. I'd venture outside sometimes at 3am to restock supplies from the 24 hour petrol station across the road: my staples were banana milkshakes and bars of Dairy Milk.

Despite my recent concerns about male fashion and my dress sense, back then I was much more confident: band t-shirts with skulls on them, ripped jeans and hoodies, and a belt buckle in the shape of an eagle were my mainstays. Sixteen years on I'm still unclear what drew Maddy to my youthful self, because it certainly wasn't my diet, dress sense or job prospects.