“What, it’s not even 7pm and you’re getting tired?” Shaf Hussain barks, flashing a devilish grin to me on a dreary Waterloo Bridge as we steam towards Soho for our twelfth Deliveroo pick-up of the shift.
“It’s not that I’m tired, it’s just my eyelids are closing on their own,” I explain to an uproar of incredulous laughter.
