
A record I hope I never break.
For the last eleven months I travelled to the North from London for work. I caught the train early every Monday morning, stayed in hotels during the week, came home Thursday.
After work I would return to a hotel. It might have been the same hotel every week, but it would be a different room each week. I would pack up my things on Sunday evening, unpack them on Monday evening, and repack them on Thursday morning. I became very good at packing, and guessing what I would need during the week.
‘Travel’ up until now had been a sexy word. It meant I would get to see and experience different parts of the world, usually within a constrained frame of time, after which I could return home with a bunch of photographs and memories.
This kind of travel is different. It starts to feel, about two months in, as if someone has hit a ‘pause’ button on your life. Five months later, it still felt like that, and I felt surprised when I noticed the date, feeling stuck several months behind. My life felt that it was split in two, going at different speeds, depending on where I was. Someone hit ‘play’ on Thursdays, when I returned home, then ‘pause’ again on Monday morning.
Fast forward to April. Now I’m based in London, I have renewed appreciation for the mundane chores in life.
Groceries: specifically, buying groceries without worrying I won’t be able to finish it all by Sunday. A fresh, full-size loaf of brown bread. An entire two pints of milk. A whole bunch of ripe bananas!
Cooking: I lived on very lavish, delicious meals for a while. Even so, I missed the effort of making things for myself. The satisfaction of frying some fat prawns, cooking pasta, or making simple hot buttered toast and a cup of tea, at home.
Rubbish: I can take my rubbish out whenever it needs to be taken out, any evening in the week!
Laundry: no longer the rush of doing laundry on a Sunday, before travel – I can do laundry and leave clothes lying around my flat to dry, with that fresh laundry smell.
Cleaning: instead of watching shows on my laptop, I can do my dishes before I go to sleep.
Facetious? Only a little bit. All of the above is a privilege of being able to come home after work.
That’s not to say it was all bad. It was a new and interesting lifestyle. I lived in excellent hotels and dined out at fancy places every night. I didn’t have to think about groceries, cooking, rubbish, laundry, or cleaning. If I wanted some food, I could just pick up the phone and dial room service. I could leave my bed unmade, and come back later to find it magically made.
I could write a whole other post about hotels and hotel customer service: when you stay in nice places week in week out, you start to notice the little differences.
So yes, not all bad. But this travel lifestyle is only sustainable for a short time. I’m looking forward to putting some roots down for a while. Perhaps literally, since the flat I’m moving to in London has a communal garden.



