My To-Do List Is Trying To Kill Me
A new day, here I am rolling in to The Cluster fashionably late (owner perks right) after one of those nights where my brain refused to shut up about everything I still have to do. Gladiator style, I kick that anxiety in the face. New day, let’s bloody go!
The Wake‑Up Call
And when I say “call,” I mean an actual phone call. As in, I picked up my mobile, dialled some numbers, and willingly subjected myself to the horror of real-time human interaction without the safety net of backspacing or emoji reactions. Terrifying. But here’s the twist: it actually went… well? They want a follow-up. I know. I love talking to people in truth!
I had to sit down too.
So here’s lesson #1 (or is it #8, f*cked if I know I am still waking up) in the mildly chaotic solopreneur handbook: Just pick up the damn phone. Stop lurking in your inbox waiting for an email reply that may or may not arrive somewhere between now and the collapse of civilisation. Turns out, people answer calls. They talk back. Sometimes, they even sound pleased to hear from you. Wild. It’s like being in the 90s again, except with a worse attention span and no Nokia Snake game (I miss those crap mobile days!) Anyway, chalking that one up as a small win in a week full of half-written to-do lists and hot drinks that’ve gone cold before I’ve even had a sip. Onwards.
Death By Desk
Ah, my desk. My little kingdom. My warzone. My ever-shifting shrine to productivity and WTF am I doing moments.
Currently on the battlefield:
One overworked laptop (fan blowing like it’s trying to cool down the surface of the sun)
A notebook with writing so frantic it could be ancient runes or a doctor’s prescription
Two mugs: one with coffee that’s now emotionally cold as well as physically, and another I don’t even remember making (might be chai… might be bin juice, it’s been that kind of week)
And the printer. Such a twat!
Today, the printer decided to go full diva. Refused to print. Jammed. Flashed lights like it was auditioning for a Coldplay concert. I pleaded. I swore. I opened every possible tray. Pulled out one slightly crumpled sheet of paper and suddenly it was back in the room like nothing ever happened. Classic manipulator behaviour. Honestly, tech is like a moody flatmate. One minute it’s helping you build your empire, the next it’s gaslighting you into thinking you broke it. Lesson #2 (or #3 as we discussed I need more coffee!): technology is either your best mate or your mortal enemy, treat it as both. Offer regular praise, but keep a screwdriver nearby (as a threat!) Anyway, somehow, despite the chaos and caffeine overload, I got a few things done. I think. Maybe. Let me just check my second mug of coffee and stare into the middle distance for a bit before deciding.
Caffeine, Catharsis & Community Spirit
Wandered over to The Meet Point Coffee Ltd today (because tea is for nebbishes and the emotionally repressed – sorry, not sorry) and had a much-needed reset after an unhinged morning that involved me shouting at Citroën at the top of my voice in The Cluster yard. Like an actual lunatic. Yes, I became that guy. Now before you judge: they deserved it. Because they’re Citroën. And if you’ve ever dealt with them, you’ll know they stand for something. An acronym, perhaps.
Consistently Irritating Tosspots Responding Obnoxiously Ëvery Nanosecond
(And yes, I did sanitise the original acronym, because LinkedIn has standards and apparently “Kevin loses it in public and swears at French engineering” isn’t considered thought leadership.)
Anyway, I was mid-rant, pacing, red in the face, yelling things like “THIS RECALL IS YOUR FAULT NOT MINE!” when I clocked Josh from the coffee shop trying very hard not to look too concerned while casually steaming milk. I paused. Took a breath and I should have walked over to apologise for my performance art meltdown. He handed me a flat white. Reader, I nearly cried. So here we are: Lesson # (insert number here) – people are your currency. Be real. Be ridiculous. Be ranty, even, just own it afterwards. Say sorry, buy a coffee, have a laugh, and for the love of God, always check if the windows to your co-working space are open before shouting about safety recalls in a shared yard.
Business Sauce (aka The Grit)
Between odd jobs (and screaming at Citroën – not proud) I scribbled in my notebook:
Define your offer clearly: If you can’t explain it in 10 seconds, you’re f*cked.
Know your crowd: Writers? Designers? Retirees trying to not enjoy crocheting? Speak their language.
Simple pricing: None of that “tailored package” nonsense – give people a number they can swallow.
Plan, don’t just wing it: We’re talking monthly calendar with themes, events, and bloody deadlines. Jury’s still out on whether I can do this or not!
If the entire thing wasn’t scribbled in dog-sh*t handwriting, I’d show you. Lesson # ?: write stuff down, even if it looks like your cat vomited on the page and you tried to wipe it clean (this actually happened once!)
The Bit Where I Pretend to Be Wise
Here’s what I’ve learnt (sort of):
Business is just admin in drag.
One minute you’re “founder of a dynamic co-working space,” the next you’re deep in a Google Sheet trying to work out where the £32.50 from May went. Glamorous? No. Necessary? Apparently.
Everything takes longer than you think, and that’s OK.
What I thought would take an hour (like calling Citroën) turned into a three-act Greek tragedy featuring truly torturous hold music, rage, and a passive-aggressive member of staff. But I still made it through. Just about.
No one else knows what they’re doing either.
Honestly. Behind every slick Instagram post and shiny website is someone in scruffy clothes (maybe that’s just me) trying to make WordPress work or crying because Canva won’t save. You’re doing fine. We’re all blagging it. High-functioning chaos is the real business model.
Be a human.
Not a LinkedIn quote bot. Spill coffee. Shout at Citroën. Say sorry. Ask for help. Make someone a hot drink even when they’re being a bit of a knob. That’s what makes the day feel like something. That’s what people remember. That’s how you build stuff that sticks.
Keep showing up.
Half-ready, half-washed, running on fumes and frail hope. Show up anyway. That’s where the magic might happen (or at least where someone might buy you a cinnamon bun and say “you’re not totally crap”).
So yeah. That’s where I’m at. Running a co-working space, having minor breakdowns in the yard, making friends through my mistakes, and somehow building something I think actually matters. If you’re still reading: gold star. If you’re relating to any of this: pull up a chair. And if you’re Citroën: I stand by everything I said.
Until the next meltdown, sorry entry.
Kev
Chief Clustodian 47.5 and winging it!
