I decided to update my CV and ring around some recruitment agents. The reality check was humbling. I was told to be 'thankful' for even having a job, while others told me no-one would employ me part time when there's 400,580,235,253,532 younger girls willing to do seven-days a week at half my day rate.
I'm hot, sweaty and wishing more than anything that the guy behind me would stop leaning against me breathing alcohol fumes in my face. Sadly there is no room to escape. I am crammed into a tube carriage, with my 60-litre, mud-covered backpack, dodging evil looks from commuters because I made the fatal faux pas of passing through central London at 8:30am on a Friday morning.