The Real World.

Second day at work was, remarkably, more successful than the first. I still have the job. No one yet has outwardly confessed they hate me. I haven't given any confidential files to the wrong person. And I wasn't twenty minutes late because the Central tube decided to get stuck in a tunnel, my Oyster card decided to be empty once I had pushed my way onto the 94 (London bus' best impression of those dodgy Indian over loaded trains) and I got the address of my prospective employer's wrong.

Success.

I have also worked out how to consciously speak slower, and am consistently working on sounding less Kiwi.

It is warm, the people are friendly, and I practically only miss 5 hours of daylight. Thanks 4pm sunset.

I love riding the tube and the bus like I'm employed. The morning tube air is tense with weary eyes and a silence only brought about before a long day of work. That unmistakable despair about a looming day behind a desk, answering calls, and tending to needy documents and long clients.

The 6pm part is my favourite. The clock ticks over and I'm free to go. I love walking down Oxford Street, watching the night time shoppers stroll the streets and getting to walk through them as if I've been tending to an important office job all day.

The streets are alive at 6pm, especially on a Thursday night. Restaurants beam warm and welcoming, the sweet wafts of food sweeping out the swinging door. Workers still in suits, blazers, high heels and office clothes hang round bar tables and next to braziers. The un-lit Christmas decorations hang above the street, the imminent festive season ever-present.

I love riding the bus home, laughing couples, reunited families and the reflective look of relief on everyone's face. The day of work is over.

Here are some snaps of touristing London on my less employed days for your viewing pleasure.