On Wednesday 5th November, I left work on my bike to ride home. Some had expressed concern about the potential for issues, with youths known for throwing fireworks, but I wasn't deterred—this wasn't my first rodeo. So, at 10 pm, I rode into the night.
Every November's arrival signals a few things, chief among them the start of the festive season preparations. At work, this translates into two key activities: planning the annual team party (since we're decentralised, every team manages their own event) and, perhaps more notoriously, navigating the annual Secret Santa. For me, this usually means an inevitable delivery of beard products or yet another cycling mug. Is that really all there is to me?
eality television simply isn’t my thing. I’ve perfected the cynical eye-roll whenever anyone mentions a new series set in a villa or a cast member from the Essex gang. My viewing loyalty is reserved for compelling narratives: gritty dramas, classic comedies, or—best of all—the witty, quick-fire brilliance of a comedy panel show or a clever sci-fi escape. These are the only programmes that truly earn a dedicated spot on my schedule. I seek substance, not spectacle.
.png)
