“Strategy” is perhaps the most over-used word in politics and communications, challenged only by the equally abused noun “crisis”. More often than not, what’s dressed up as strategy is, in fact, tactics. And what’s often described as a tactical decision is usually a good old fashioned knee-jerk.

Until I found myself at the centre of a properly strategic problem that was rapidly unravelling my life, I’d spent my working hours swimming in mostly warm tactical waters.

Certainly, as a young tabloid reporter I lived week to week. I didn’t have much of a career plan and I measured my progress by how many bylines – later how many splashes – I’d generated at the Sun. It was the kind of high-octane, exhausting and enormously fun job you don’t hear much about in the modern workplace.

Even when I became editor of Britain’s best-selling Sunday newspaper, most of my thinking was tactical. A Tuesday to Saturday pattern of increasing workloads until the final, white-knuckle ride towards publication.

Running alongside (and sometimes all over) the journalistic dash to the finish line, however, were the endless management meetings that masqueraded as “strategy sessions”. This was 2003-2007, when the digital revolution was just getting its shoes on, but a time when we all knew, deep down, that our days were numbered. A bit like the first hour of Zulu.

My favourite “strategy” (which, to be …