Two months in, and I can report that working from home is neither the productivity paradise nor the slow descent into pyjamas that the internet promised. It is mostly just work, with the commute replaced by a slightly longer relationship with the kettle.
The honest version is this: the first hour is brilliant. No travel, no shuffling into a meeting room, just coffee and a clear head. The middle of the day is where it falls apart. There is no natural pause, no walk to get a sandwich, no colleague wandering over to break the trance. So I sit, and sit, and discover at four o'clock that I have not stood up since breakfast and my back has opinions about it.
What has genuinely helped is being strict about the edges. A proper start, a proper finish, and a walk in between even when the weather is doing its usual grey impression of May. The thing nobody warns you about is not loneliness or distraction. It is that the work will quietly expand to fill every hour you leave open for it, and only you can put the fence up.
I miss the small talk more than I expected. Not the meetings. The corridor nonsense. Funny what you mishandle until it is gone.