I got into this game because I was worried that otherwise I'd end up a fat mortgage slave in my forties who'd always dreamed of being a cycle courier. What I didn't expect was that I'd fall head over heels in love with it. I have degrees from good universities, and I expected to end up with some respectable career involving pinstripes. But now I spend my days riding around London at break-neck speed and arrive home exhausted, sweaty, bruised and caked in dirt. I earn . . .

Salma eats fish for breakfast, Denny drinks whisky and Lorna sits in prayer. I eat cereal, and cake on Mondays. We all like biscuits.
They say C2s buy bourbons and live in flats, and C1s earn £30,000+ and eat out twice a week. Averages frustrate me; we're all exceptions. People have always intrigued me. I wanted to know everyone at school, out of school, the exchange students, anyone that entered my world. I once had ten pen friends. It started with books, . . .