I set my alarm for 6.50 every morning and light a wood fire in a metal heater in my room as soon as I get out of bed. During winter it was often minus 25 outside. I’ll have a shower and dry my hair. It’s a 15-minute battle trying to dress as covered up as possible while feeling professional and feminine. I must have my head covered at all times when I’m outside my house or workplace. You’re not meant to see the female shape, and the three scarves I own go down to my knees. They are all black, so they match everything and don’t get dirty: there’s so much dust in this city.

I get picked up at 7.45am by a driver in a UN Land Cruiser with blast-proof windows. I could walk to work, as it’s only five minutes away, but for our safety we’re never allowed to walk far on the streets.

I head for the Portakabin canteen in our UN compound. Breakfast this morning was a British-style egg sandwich with lots of ketchup.

My job is to carry out grassroots research that helps to ensure the economic programmes and policies of the UN are aligned with the actual needs of Afghan people, particularly the women. On the days I do fieldwork, I go with my Afghan colleague and driver to interview people in their homes. On most visits we stop at a kebab stall on the street for lunch, or our driver buys us naan bread and meat to eat in the car or in a park. In some areas it’s uncomfortable to go to a restaurant, as the patrons are only men.

Once we get to the day’s destination, we visit the village elder. In Afghan culture, if the head of the village guarantees you his protection, you generally know that you’ll be secure in that area. There is this idea that being in Afghanistan constantly feels terrifying. But the first time I went out of Kabul, we parked our car in the snow and had to walk up a mountain to reach the women I was interviewing. The air was so clear and I could walk without being too conscious about my security. Suddenly I felt so free.

We talk to our interviewees for an hour and a half, and they always convince us to stay for tea and biscuits. Afghans go out of their way to make their guests feel part of the family, and someone is always ready to top up your tea.

Then we return to the office, as we have to be back in Kabul before dark. My office windows open onto the compound, and I could be anywhere in the world, except for when you hear military convoys passing by or aeroplanes flying low.

You can hear it in the office if a bomb goes off in the city, and for maybe five minutes everyone talks about it. Then that’s it: the subject is dropped. Recently there have been attacks on western aid workers in Kabul. Obviously, any death is tragic and scary, but the media tend to over-emphasise the horror aspects of working here.

My day usually ends around 5.30pm and I often go to the gym in the compound, which is in a Portakabin. We used to go to the gym in the Serena hotel before it was attacked in January. Now the UN has increased its security measures, which means you can’t visit bars, restaurants or hotels.

So my flatmates and I usually go over to someone’s house for dinner and order a Lebanese takeaway. I generally ask for fattoush, a pitta-bread-and-vegetable salad.

I miss my parents in England. We e-mail most days and speak a couple of times a month. They were scared when I first said I might move to Afghanistan, but now they are incredibly proud of me. Without their support I couldn’t be here. In Afghanistan we’re all living in the same situation, so relationships form much quicker than back home: someone you’ve met a week ago can be a really close friend.

The Muslim weekend is Friday and Saturday, so Thursday is our Friday night. There’ll probably be a house party, and the guys throwing it will go to a UN shop and stock up on drinks. We are our own barmen, and DJs and play whatever we have on our iPods, which is generally a mix of British and American cheese, although I’ve currently got Regina Spektor on loop. We have to be dropped off at home by our driver before our 11 o’clock curfew, and for our safety at night-time we can’t leave until 6 the next morning.

I never used to bother with bedtime skincare, but now I have a meticulous regime — mainly I use Clean & Clear products — as there is a lot of pollution. It’s a race to beat my flatmates to bed, as the last person has to go outside to switch off the generator which supplies electricity to our house.

I sometimes have bad dreams. But whereas before I came here they were set in London, now they’re set in Kabul.

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