Grounded in the City

It’s three o’clock on a Saturday morning and you’re awake. Not because you’re out partying, surrounded by friends. Nor because you’re one of those strange people who awake at daybreak to greet the sunrise with yoga and a sprint around Hampstead Heath with your SO. No, you went to bed at 11, slept for an hour and then woke up, for no reason other than that you have to work at 4 pm and your brain chose to remind you a whole 13 hours in advance (just in case).

Suddenly you remember that you didn’t set up the tables for the morning and you can’t remember if this is your job or not. Your life is ruined and subsequently any chance of future sleep. Instead, you must sit listening to the birds have way more fun than you are likely to have ever again. So here I am, munching on a lonely Stroop Waffle (possibly smuggled back from Holland two months ago – don’t judge its an emergency) and nursing a mug of tea in the hope that it will soothe me back to dreamland.


It’s going to be a beautiful day!

At times like these, it is hard to remember why I am working in a job that doesn’t suit, in a city I can’t afford, with people I don’t know. Then I remember that in a few months I will hopefully be free to go anywhere. Like all travellers, I have to remind myself: “Don’t do the crime (wonderful, amazing, delicious adventures) if you can’t do the time (boring, soul destroying, sleep depriving work)”.

So to all those doing the time out there, I’m rooting for you! You are awesome so just keep swimming.


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