Or the nth circle of hell you enter when you relocate from one country to another via surface travel. It’s not my fault – I tried booking for the aerial route. Twice. They kept getting cancelled and I kept running out of time. So I decided to lug 40 kilos of knick knacks around, deliberately ignoring that it’s 80% of my actual body weight, and took a trip under the English Channel.

I have a new appreciation for pre-commercial airline times, but then again, I doubt there were this many baggage restrictions back in the day. If you expect me to fit my life into one 85 cm long suitcase, one smaller suitcase and one laptop bag – well, of course I’ll end up with serious muscle injuries at the end of it. It’s only compounding the previously existing back pain from working in front of a laptop 40 hours a week, while the only form of respite from the general dullness of it all is a “walk”. I’m not a Jane Austen character who finds herself rejuvenated by taking a turn about the garden, none of those sprightly young ladies spent hours on end replying to Slack messages and emails, they didn’t start despairing the second they saw *another* video meeting being set up. I hated meetings in person. Turns out, I loathe them even more when they’re virtual.

I’m experiencing a bizarre sense of confusion and peace today. The weather’s pleasant – it’s far too sunny, yes, but the temperature’s low enough that the sun doesn’t feel oppressive. I find myself with little to do – after a year of chores and tired routines, I’m at someone else’s place, eating sandwiches I ordered online from the nearest Sainsbury’s and lazily postponing actual things I need to do. I’ve got time – I’ll be quarantining with DOMS for a while now.

I get paid to write tedious things that no one ever reads because they want to. Of course, I’m okay, why wouldn’t I be?