After a week in which the financial sector quite visibly reared its ugly head yet again, Nadal will no longer entertain us on the greenish grass of the All-England Club and Italy played the match of the year against Spain, my working life of a 70 hour work week has almost come to an end. Summer is still rather reluctant to manifest itself and since a year has past since I sat my final exams, I perhaps can no longer call myself a fresh graduate. In that year I have been able to experience what they mean with ‘tough market conditions’, that pursuing one’s ideal working life is a career in itself and that optimism can make you look like a d*ck. Graduate life one year on and where does one go from here. I’ve considered transferring myself to sunnier shores, where they charge lower rent and political leaders are less busy f*cking over the electorate. But where does one go if one loves the vibe and cultural inclusion of the City of Cities? A flight is often not the answer, so I’ll stick with it. Get up,stand up, stand up for your right to the good life and don’t let the climate get you down.