Cast your mind back to last Wednesday evening, 9pm to be exact. What were you doing? Perhaps you were curled up on the sofa reading a book, maybe finishing the last of your dinner. Cherishing the precious moments of leisure we have on the ever-accelerating hamster wheel of life.
Well, not me. Instead, I found myself in a warehouse in the Docklands, fighting back tears while a small, tattooed man in sliders shouted up at me, then proceeded to charge me £50 for the pleasure. It was a real record-scratch “yep, that’s me: you might be wondering how I got here” movie moment.
