The low point came at 5am one December morning. It was sub-zero outside and the gate outside my house had frozen shut, which meant I needed to throw my backpack over the top and climb over – and do it quickly because I was already running late for my 7am start. Bag successfully launched onto the street, I began my ascent, instantly regretting the decision to wear a skirt.
Of course, I got stuck. Then my tights caught on a splinter and by the time I’d wrangled my way down the other side, they’d laddered all the way up my legs. When I finally reached the Tube, I bought myself a large Americano to drink en route. Somewhere between Finchley Central and Notting Hill Gate, most of it had spilt onto my top (white, inevitably).
