Last week I didn’t go into work.
I woke up at 5.30am each morning, rode my bike to King’s Cross and performed the ashtanga yoga primary series in a room with 200+ people as Sharath Jois counted out the asanas. Then I drank coffee. I had planned to do some stuff that I’ve never got around to doing – you know, cultural stuff – but instead I just drank lots of coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. I hit up many of the London coffee shops I’ve been meaning to visit. And then I rode my overcaffeinated self back home to my flat and lazed around. And I went to bed at 10pm just so I could do it all over again the next morning.
Do I regret not doing London stuff that I had lofty ideals to do at the beginning of the week?