Since the end of January, I’ve been working in London three or four days per week. It’s been a mix of everything: great moments, stress, sensory overload, barely contained chaos, and above all, getting the job done—no matter what.
A typical London day involved getting up at 05:15, leaving at 06:00, biking to the train station, catching a train into the city at 06:30, and arriving at 07:20. From there, I’d bike from Euston or St Pancras to the City. Twelve hours later, I would run the process in reverse.
In the meantime, I’d dash about on my trusty Brompton, making repeat trips from the old City to Islington, with occasional ventures to Shoreditch when I stayed over.
In a typical week, I’d spend about the equivalent of a full working day just commuting. That’s a big time cost, which goes some way toward explaining why I’ve been so busy over the past few months. My usual 45–55 working hours plus 8–10 hours commuting = 60+ hours. Then add in all the drama of recently buying a new house, and you’ve got a recipe for an extraordinary term.
Here’s a collage of pics captured throughout…
Dr Martin James 