I Steal Time.
Walking in London with a friend from America who works in film. I stopped at a roundabout near Covent Garden, looked up. He asked what I was looking at. Everything, I said. It’s my practice. I take five minutes every day just for me, to look around and see where I am and be there. Thirty-five minutes a week. Over twenty years, that’s something over six hundred hours I’ve taken just for myself.
My friend instantly decided that I was Not Normal and regarded me warily for the rest of the day.