Got to sleep in this morning. In an actual bed too. I don’t start work until 1pm today. My life seems to have become a meandering and never-ending trail between Waterstones’ bookshops and other peoples’ couches in central London. Five days a week to Dillon’s Coffee on Gower Street to make (increasingly) pretty cappuccinos and lattes and triple-shot-iced-vanilla-soy-lattes with extra milk on the side and fairy dust on top.
We have a lot of fun and we drink a lot of coffee. We also have a lot of breakdowns and get beaten down by inexplicably rude customers and unforgiving queues. Long story short, I am working my arse off and don’t think I have ever been this tired in my life. So tired and so caffeinated at the same time.
Yesterday I got to the cafe just past 7am to get everything ready and open the door to some jolly if much too keen ladies searching for their morning coffees. Eventually, it was after 4pm and time to leave. Having got 10 minutes to sit down all day, I stepped out into the rain to join a protest rally with signs like “LOVE EUROPE” and “BREXSHIT”. Got to do what you can to stay in this wonderful mess of a city.
By 7pm I was soaked enough to seek an armchair in another Waterstone’s and read something about hippie vegan food and photography. I had to find my way back to my friend’s bed too so I headed up North and on the way walked past the next Waterstone’s and decided I had time to spare. I ducked in onto the lumpy, off-green couch with some book about a stranger’s diary salvaged from a trash can (A Life Discarded), and got them to make me a cup of tea. I wrote about it in my diary.
Past I don’t even know what hour, I find myself in my best friend’s bed listening to her talk about her day, and I watch the rain drops coat the rooftops of London with a damp sleep. It’s June and it’s dark, but across the expanse, The Shard shines bright with its lights, despite the rain and the turmoil. The lights are the last thing I see before I close my eyes.