'What the hell am I doing here?' asks remote worker still living in London

A WOMAN who still works from home in an overpriced London flat has started to question her living arrangements.

Camden resident Emma Bradford, who has been doing her office job from her pokey room since March, has realised her life would be infinitely better if she moved anywhere else in the country.

Bradford said: “I thought I was only going to be working remotely for a couple of weeks, which was fine, but it’s nearly September and the office doors are still chained shut.

“It makes it more difficult than usual to justify why I’m flushing extortionate rent money down the toilet every month when there’s literally no reason for me to be here. Plus I’m getting slammed with massive sodding energy bills in order to earn a pittance.

“I can’t even kid myself into thinking it’s worth living here for the arts scene. All the open mic nights and amateur comedy gigs have moved online where anyone can be embarrassed by them.

“I’ll probably stick it out here for a few more years then settle down in Bristol or Reading, where I’ll wistfully talk about London as if I’m not completely relieved to be out of that f**king hellhole.”

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Boris Johnson's personal trainer's fitness diary

AS personal trainer to the prime minister, I’m painstakingly logging his journey from obesity to good health. Here’s the story so far:

Day one: Boris tells me he has already lost 69 pounds and plans to lose a further 100. According to the scales he’s lost 16 pounds and needs to lose a further 150. He says yes, that’s what he said.

Day six: Boris tells me unfortunately he’s unable to do any exercise today because he’s working flat-out for the people of Britain. I tell him to do sit-ups. He tells me every sit-up he does counts as 10.

Day 12: Boris really steps up and does an incredibly tough workout without complaint, running all distances, performing all exercises, pushing himself to the absolute max. Then the photographers leave and he sits down panting and tells me to be a good boy and f**k off.

Day 15: Boris tells me he’s already done all the exercises before I arrived so doesn’t have to. I point out he’s not sweating and has just eaten a bun. He promises to do all 160 sit-ups in the last three minutes before the end of the session.

Day 22: I meet Boris at a new location he calls his ‘training centre’, the flat of a young aspiring model I worked with last year. He exits rumpled and flushed and claims to have just done ‘15 minutes of press-ups’.

Day 34: Boris announces he has reached his target weight. I explain he has actually put on six pounds in the last week and is doing no exercise. He calls me a ‘doomster and what’s more, a gloomster who is doing this country down’.

Day 35: Arrive for work. Police won’t let me into Downing Street. They tell me the prime minister has a new personal trainer. I peer through the railings and see it’s Baroness Dido Harding, chair of the new National Institute for Health Protection and former chief executive of TalkTalk.

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