Katrina

One of the perceptions I have of myself is that I don't do well with a "routine lifestyle", whatever that may actually be.

I think this partly stems from a need to justify not going straight for a proper job after university and the fact that I'm twenty four year old man who sometimes sleeps on an air-bed on his parents' living-room floor. "Peaks and troughs", I tell those who inquire, in order to sustain a travelling lifestyle I have to do this kind of thing.

But while in the grand scheme of things my life may not be routine, in-so-far as my year will be dotted with several exciting escapades, the intermediary stretches are, however, awash with routine. Same bus everyday, black jeans, black shirt, my beard a-roughening, same customers, same orders, same jokes, same bus home.

But one thing I've noticed this summer is that routine can also be pretty swell. Sticking around in the same place for a while has allowed me to meet wonderful people here who have made the routine anything but conventional. What's more, the longer you sit around the more these people become woven into your life, adding colour and texture.

Even at work the everyday shift has its moments. The other day, for instance, I accidentally did a Hitler impersonation in front of a table of Germans while attempting to suppress as sneeze by pressing down on my top lip. A woman who was trying to pick a napkin off the floor slid off the leather chair onto the floor, I did ask if she was okay before I we chuckled, by the way. And yesterday a customer laughed at something I said and a bit of their spit hit my lip, and I had to carry on the conversation stoically as if nothing happened. Actually that's not really a moment, that's just gross.

That's what I get for routinely grogging in their coke I guess.