Work hard, party harder: a cliché I lived by in my 20s.

The summer before the Olympics came to London , I found myself working the graveyard shift in hospitality. For a 22-year-old with little sleep and plenty of stamina, London was a pot of wild opportunities.

From making friends with crying girls at bus stops to spending a night at the glamorous W Hotel in Leicester Square, pretending I could party like a rockstar, the city had it all.

But gradually – then suddenly – the ‘party’ fell away. I was left with ‘work hard, harder’.

I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but all these years later, I’ve been invited to review a ‘mystic’ astrology experience at the W, which is all about transforming and discovering your true self.

Rising from the ashes of my memory, I returned to

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