Riding across London streets.

The feeling of refusing to stop pedalling until I reached my goals. My goal was simple: to have a home that I could call my own. No matter how cold it was. The ice-cold sensation on my face. Feeling the rain start trickling down, then getting heavier and heavier. I didn’t stop. I embraced it. I threw on my waterproofs and kept pushing. I never stopped. Every delivery. Every pedal stroke. Every hungry customer. From one door to another. I cruised through the city during a period of my life when I was lost. I was numb and empty. All I wanted was to feel something, and courier work was one of the few things that gave me that. Something I could feel. Something that made me feel alive during a time when I felt numb. So I kept going. I refused to give up. All I wanted to do was stay on my bicycle, keep pushing, and hope that one day I would find the answers. That one day I would find happiness — or at least excitement and ambition — and eventually build a new life. A life that I actually wanted to live. Cycling gave me time. Time to meditate. Time to analyse myself. Time to ask questions. Time to figure things out. It was the only job I had found that could give me all of those things at once. I could keep myself fit. I could get into a flow state. I could spend hours in my own head. I could listen to music. I could think. I could keep moving towards my goals without needing to have the entire rest of my life figured out. I didn’t have a grand plan. I just kept pedalling. I tried to keep myself fit. I tried to keep my mind sharp. I tried to figure myself out while I was on the road. And eventually, I did. It took me a decade and a half to understand what had gone wrong. It took years before I could properly understand myself and what I actually needed. But eventually something changed. I didn’t just learn to tolerate cycling. I didn’t just learn to embrace it. I learned to actually enjoy it. I found excitement. Pleasure. Happiness. Joy. The feelings I had spent so long looking for eventually started appearing through music, flow state, meditation, movement, and all the sensations that come with being on a bicycle and moving through a city. I found it. I found security. I found fitness. I found peace. I found joy. I found excitement. Being a courier was exactly what I needed at 26, after years of feeling lost and unable to understand what was wrong or how I could fix it. Courier work allowed me to stay occupied without constantly having to deal with other people. At the time, that was exactly what I wanted. I wanted isolation. But there was a downside. Being isolated can also mean losing touch with people. Maybe I had never felt completely connected to humanity in the first place. Now I’m making videos. I’m writing. I’m putting myself out there. And somehow, through cycling, I feel like I’m finally becoming more connected to myself — and more connected to other people too. I’m a bike courier. And I love what it gives me. It’s not just about the money. It’s about the riding. It’s about the music. It’s about the feeling of being in motion. It’s about the happy customer when I arrive with their food. It genuinely makes me feel good knowing that I made someone’s experience better by doing the job properly. By being fast. By being efficient. By carrying their food properly and getting it there in good condition. There is satisfaction in doing something well. Courier work gives me purpose. It gives me excitement. It gives me flow. It gives me fitness. It gives me time to think. It even taught me mechanical skills. I started working on my own bikes. I became my own bike mechanic. And now I’m bringing other skills into it too. I’m using the design skills I had before I became a courier. I’m learning how to make websites. I’m learning how to make videos. I’m learning how to tell stories. All of these different parts of my life are finally coming together. Of course, anyone can become a courier. But can anyone do it exactly the way I do it? That’s what I’m interested in. Can I bring the food quickly and efficiently? Can I take pride in the equipment I use? Can I make the experience better for the customer? Can I turn ten years of riding around cities into something worth watching? Maybe that’s what London Nosh is. Not just a courier channel. It’s the story of what happened when I refused to stop pedalling.