Forget military conscription, everyone should have to be a waiter

In London time shrinks. Where I once felt as though I had two handfuls of it, I suddenly have one. Having extra small hands this allotment seems specifically unjust. I come home to half-made beds, dirty dishes and unfinished emails. Mid-activity I’m hoovered out the room onto semi-ugly streets, lowered underground to crouch between strangers’…