You know when nothing else will do, except for sitting in a coffee shop when sunlight creeps back to the Sun herself. And you say fuck it and buy your hipster hot drink – think Chai Latte – and find a corner. Your corner. And open up a book, pages worn. A Crime Thriller, obviously. And just sit. And take in the fact that you’ve been thinking of doing this for so long. And now you’re doing it. And could it be because you are an inherently lazy person? Or your anxiety stops you from following through with your ideas, sometimes? Or it’s just always been typical British dreary weather? But it doesn’t matter anymore. Because you’re doing it. Well done. You’re doing okay.