A little while ago, I wrote about the fact that I was adjusting to my new life of COVID-related redundancy and had found myself out of work for the first time in nine years. I had intended to write more about my ongoing search during the intervening weeks. Instead, I dove head first into the
On 16th June, the evening before my 33rd birthday, I received a call from my boss that I somewhat naively never saw coming. Having been on furlough for a month (like so many thousands of others in the UK), my first thought was that this was a social call to check in on my progress.
It’s been just over three weeks since BoJo pleaded with the British people to stay home, protect the NHS and save lives. For someone who has spent a good chunk of their adult life claiming not to be a people person, you could be forgiven for thinking that this was something of a dream come
