Hannah Borno

Back in London I’m starting to feel the pinch of the credit crunch as well as my waist band. Seems the bad luck sees no signs of abating and I curse the amount of money I spent in NY on crystals and macchiatos. Our mortgage has gone up (hasn’t everyone’s?), and it’s taking forever to get a new one. If I’d had my third eye open sooner I might have seen this coming! As it is, we’re being forced to rent our Shoreditch flat to some Brazilians and are going to rent something much cheaper in a boring area with no bars, bad restaurants, wedged behind rattling railway lines.

The stress of packing and mortgage negotiations is all too much and yesterday I found myself in a street behind Liverpool street station doubled over having a panic attack – or possible heart attack – I’m not sure which. This is no way to live. Every night Charlie and I are eat takeaways from Tas Firin and go for hurried wheat beers at The Redchurch to write lists. The only Mindless Eating dictate I’m sticking to these days is eating from tiny plates - but when you’re eating lamb shish wraps and piles of baklava it doesn’t really work. (Maybe it wasn’t a panic attack, maybe it was simply indigestion…)