A Day in the Life (With Minor Interruptions)

My days start early. I get up around 4:30am—sometimes earlier, sometimes later. I never set an alarm. It’s just when I wake up. I wasn’t always a morning person—in my 20s I was the opposite—but the older I get, the earlier I rise.

The first thing I do is feed the animals. Both the dog and cat greet me at the stairs, ready for action, especially if it involves their food bowls.

I have breakfast while skimming the news online. I’m apolitical, which is to say I read both the left-leaning and right-leaning outlets and assume the truth is hiding somewhere under a pile of adjectives. I make up my own mind, armed with caffeine and healthy scepticism.

Mornings are my writing time. I usually spend an hour or two with a keyboard and a blank page, which often becomes this blog. Other times it becomes a stream of half-baked stories and existential sighs. Either way, I write.

Around 6:30am, I take the dog for a walk. We head into the university and down to the lake, where a small canine community gathers. Dino and Lilla like to play. Waffle watches from a safe distance, possibly judging us all. Rocco and Rover turn up when they feel like it, which I respect. Sometimes students are in the TV room watching the Champions League, their passion running higher than their coursework attendance. We share the moment, and then the dog and I head off again.

By 8:00am I’m in the office. That first hour is golden: a chance to get my head together before everyone arrives and things get… dynamic. I do a walkaround to check that everything’s in order. Lights left on, air conditioners roaring into the void—it’s all part of the morning routine. University students are energy innovators. They don’t generate it, but they’re very good at using it.

The rest of the day is harder to script. Some days are full of admin. Others are full of people. Often both. There are the students who struggle with their mental health. The ones who want to talk. And those who, for reasons unknown, choose to roam the halls like insomniac philosophers, heading to bed just as I’m waking up. They are the creatures of the night. We nod to each other in passing.

There’s also a steady parade of unexpected events—because when you live with 300 university students, something is always happening. Someone is always falling in love. Or out of love. Or down the stairs. I have an open-door policy, so staff and students come and go all day. Sometimes they come in pairs. Occasionally in emotional threes. Plans change with a knock, a message, or a fire alarm going off somewhere in the building. During COVID, it wasn’t just the day that changed—it was the next three years.

In the evening I have dinner with my wife and watch the news, After dinner, I read the Bible, and lately I’ve been writing poetry in response to what I read. I enjoy it—especially the days when the poetry makes sense even to me.

I try to get to bed by 9:00pm. Most nights are uneventful. But not always. Some nights involve ambulances, emotional crises, or long philosophical conversations with someone who is still learning their limits. You learn not to be surprised.

Still, I love what I do. Even when I’m not quite sure what I’ll be doing next.