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Why I like being a messenger - part 1
3.04.06 by Buffalo Bill

It’s been wierd being a messenger again after a 6 year break. For a start I don’t know where anything is. Of course, Oxford Street has not suddenly been moved to NW1, and St Paul’s still glowers down from the top of Ludgate Hill, but all the places that a good messenger should know have been changed around.

Still there! pic Selim

I have no idea where I have to go to deliver a parcel to Rainey Kelly Campbell Roalfe, as the last time I delivered to them they were still in Middlesex House on Cleveland Street, and you could still go in the front door of Greater London House daytime. Now, apparently, you go round the back and there’s some lift or something.

Marks and Sparks have moved, and even the security lodge at the Guardian has migrated across the yard. It’s all very confusing. The Steps have moved also, from Marshall Street to Great Marlborough Street, and the Magistrates Court next door has turned into a hotel.

So I have to learn it all over again, and as I only work very occasionally, I guess I am going to feel like I am lost for a little while yet, always presuming that I keep getting offered the odd day.

But one thing hasn’t changed: I still love being paid to ride my bike. I still love the sensation of only needing to focus on where I am going, and what’s going on around me. Totally in the present. No need to think ahead. Pedal your damn bike and deliver the damn package. That’s it.

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