It sounds gruelling, but Katie Horwich finds poetry in cycling through the capital, making sure the city is well fed
The first meal I delivered was a single lobster bisque to a penthouse overlooking St Katherine Docks. A cufflinked wrist thrust out from behind a door to retrieve it. My bike was lit by moonlight, the boats swayed in the harbour, and despite not seeing his face, I had the fleeting thought that this could be the most romantic job of my life.
I’ve been a Deliveroo rider for a few months – I started in the summer when the riders had just been on strike. Management were trialling pay per delivery rather than the hourly pay, and without guaranteed income it would leave workers earning under the minimum wage. The company abandoned the plans a few days later. I was surprised so few riders were talking about it, though they did tell me to make sure I got the hourly contract, to be on my guard and make a note of my hours.
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