November is my least favourite month. I hate getting up in the dark, going home in the dark and (the way the markets are going) working in the dark. I also hate the cold wind that blows in from the Liffey and slices the IFSC in two, making nipping out for a lunchtime sandwich a very chilling prospect.

There are two places to get a sandwich here and both of them will come under increasing pressure during the winter as more and more people move into the centre and nobody is in the mood to walk very far to get lunch.

It's hard not to be impressed with the drive and commitment of the people who have made the IFSC such a success, and created a lot of jobs by doing so. But I wish they had thought a little more about the outside environment. There's nothing wrong with the architecture, and (whistling winds notwithstanding) the layout is very good, it's just the infrastructure that's lacking something.

A few more shops would be nice - that's why I'm sure women have very little to do with planning business centres, they would make sure there was plenty of room for life's little essentials like shops. It sounds lazy to say that it's a hassle to walk downtown, but it is.

Of course it's equally hard to know whether or not we can face another place selling a variation on a cheese sandwich.

The only other retail outlet down here is the dry-cleaners which - despite tending to the best part of my winter wardrobe - has a sign outside saying "your shirt, sir". I haven't defaced that sign yet, but one day . . .

There is nothing exciting in the IFSC to while away the lunchtime hour and, while the cold November winds keep blowing, it looks like the cheese sandwich, the newspaper and skimming through the screens for inspiration.

The last weeks have been strange. Markets are still so volatile that the long-term guys haven't made up their minds which way to jump and the short-term people are jumping all over the place. Everybody talks about Asia in hushed tones, half-afraid to say things like "Korea" out loud in case the whole deck of cards comes tumbling down. Moves of 2 or 3 per cent in Asian equity markets are commonplace.

Closer to home, our friends in Greece have been having a torrid time of it. The drachma has come under selling pressure, partly because of speculation (a forbidden word!) that it might be devalued before Greece joined the ERM but also as a spin-off of the Asian problems. There's a touch of deja vu for all of us about it. The graph of Greek interbank deposit rates looks like someone taking a lie detector test - a flatish line around 10 per cent and then a mad spike to 80 per cent. The official Central Bank rate was hiked up to 150 per cent. In the meantime, the US$/drachma graph looks like a complete heart attack!

Bond markets, so often the poor relation in the news compared with equities, have had their own heart-attack type moves too as people tried to second guess the Bank of England and the Federal Reserve. It's a constant battle between economic fundamentals and sheer nerves - and it's easy to say hold your nerve but, with end-year in sight, it's not always easy to do so.

In these type of markets, rumours are always good for a sudden shakeout. My favourite sort are the ones related to economic releases rather than the financial authorities "will they, won't they" change rates sort. Everyone has a forecast for the set of numbers. Then someone revises the forecast. Then a rumour comes out that the numbers will be better than the revision. So the market chases its tail for a while and then the numbers come out exactly as originally forecast. And you just know that you're getting caught up in something silly, but you can't help it!

Back in the 1980s one of the regular rumours was that President Reagan had been shot. Having seen him survive one assassination attempt, the foreign exchange markets obviously felt that he was good for a few more. Every second Friday, the Reagan rumour would sweep the markets, the dollar would be sold off for about 10 minutes, then the White House would put out a message saying that Reagan was in perfect health and dancing with Nancy in the Oval Office. The thing is, everyone knew it was a rumour, nobody believed for an instant that he had been shot again, but you couldn't be certain. . .

Anyway, if things were turbulent in foreign markets, they were not much better on the home front. I managed to catch a cold as soon as I came back from sunnier climes and I spent the weekend surrounded by boxes of tissues, nose drops, paracetamol and lozenges.

The man in my life is sporting a black eye, courtesy of an over-exuberant Halloween reveller whose aim with an apple was a good deal better than he thought. He also has a bad back although he refuses to say how he injured it. Anyway, what with my sneezing and his gentle groaning (in the way all men do when they're in excruciating pain and being very brave) sleep has not been at a premium in our house lately.

We had just managed to drift off at some ridiculous hour the other night when we were woken by an almighty scuffling coming from the attic. He sat bolt upright (bad back notwithstanding) and I sneezed violently a couple of times. At first we thought it was the attack of the killer rats. But it was a less sinister (if ultimately more distressing) event. The cat, who quite often sleeps beside the chimney pot, had decided to chase a bird who had landed near him. It was the roar of the cat and the alarmed squawk of the bird that made the whole scene so graphic.

When I came down the following morning the cat wore a self-satisfied smirk and stalked through the kitchen. I was pretty sure there was a pathetic clump of feathers in the front garden, but I couldn't be certain in the gloom.

Sometimes it's a good idea to go to work in the dark.

Sheila O'Flanagan is a fixed-income specialist with NCB stockbrokers