“We are pleased to inform you that you have successfully passed with a score of 35/40.”
There it was. The kind of understated sentence that doesn’t scream a life-changing achievement, but quietly nods in your direction like a headteacher who’s physically incapable of smiling.
The notification pinged into my inbox. I opened it, held my breath for no real reason, and then got the relief. It was the relief of someone who has spent the last week memorising the finer points of alcohol licensing law instead of doing literally anything else enjoyable.
Because yes, for the past seven days, my life had been a heady cocktail of late nights, caffeine, and the Licensing Act 2003. And when I say “heady cocktail,” I mean the driest, least fun drink imaginable, something like the virgin mojitos that are Jonathan’s favourite drink.
But the revision cramming had paid off, with the passing of my Personal Licence exam being a key step towards being able to serve alcohol at our new facility.
This is needed because you can’t just decide to open a place where people are playing intense pickleball and then go to enjoy a gin and tonic. No, no. That would be far too simple. Instead, there’s a beautifully bureaucratic chain of requirements:
To serve alcohol, you need a premises licence.
To get a premises licence, you need a designated premises supervisor.
And to be a designated premises supervisor, you need a personal licence.
Which is where I come in.
Now, you might be wondering: how did I become the chosen one? The responsible adult? The gatekeeper of PrimeTime pints?
The reality is that I lost a game of rock-paper-scissors to Jonathan. I chose scissors like an absolute amateur.
Still, responsibility accepted. Licence acquired. Onwards.
“Dude, social media is popping off.”
While I’ve been deep in the trenches of licensing law, Tom, our resident marketing guru, has been busy generating results.
The marketing plan we put together ahead of launch has come out of the gates like it’s been on the same caffeine intake level as yours truly. Credit where it’s due: Tom’s behind the camera producing great content, Jonathan is the face of the brand, and the ad campaign is doing exactly what it’s supposed to do.
Followers are ticking up. Likes are rolling in. DMs are appearing from actual humans, not just bots trying to sell us crypto or questionable clothing factories.
Maybe this says more about me than anything else, but I found myself genuinely impressed. The best part is that it’s still going.
Which is ideal, because we are, to put it mildly, not finished. Not even close. There’s a long road ahead with plenty more wins, plenty more chaos, and almost certainly a few moments where we question all our life choices. All of that will be documented on social media, so stick around.
Jonathan, riding this wave of creative confidence, has already pitched the next content idea. It’s bold but also brilliant, so naturally, we’re filming it next week.
“I’m feeling sharper already.”
That’s Victor, our head coach. A man who looks like he could either coach you to greatness or challenge you to a duel, depending on how the day is going.
He’s staring at me intensely while taking another sip from his water bottle, which has been infused with a Waterdrop capsule.
Now, I’ve been on the Waterdrop train for a while. Fully converted. The kind of person who talks about hydration like it’s a personality trait. But this is Victor’s first experience.
He pauses, considers, then smiles, followed by a compliment about the cola-flavoured capsule.
And just like that, another one joins the fan club.
We’re watching the Spring Club Championships at our Holland Park venue unfold as this happens. In my head, I’m thinking about a subtle ecosystem forming.
Because Waterdrop are providing prizes for the winners.
Which raises an important question: what happens when the winners start using Waterdrop, boosting their hydration, their vitamins, their overall performance… and then win again?
Are we accidentally creating an unstoppable cycle? A hydration-fuelled dynasty?
It’s too early to say. But if we start seeing the same names lifting trophies while casually sipping flavoured water like elite athletes, I saw it coming.
“A few additional documents needed.”
And just like that, we return to reality.
The glow of the Club Championships fades quickly the next morning, replaced by an email from a stakeholder, who needs more documents.
Of course they do. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this entire process, it’s that no matter how many documents you think you have, there is always another one.
In this case, this isn’t just any document required. No. This one needs to be produced by a specific person. An independent assessor.
Who is, naturally, on holiday. For two weeks.
Can someone else step in?
No, sorry.
Can we proceed in the meantime, assuming it will be completed soon?
Also no, sorry.
And this is the game. This is the dance. A delicate back-and-forth between progress and paperwork, where every step forward is accompanied by a polite request for “just one more thing.”
Honestly, if you didn’t laugh, you’d cry.
And I haven’t cried since Chelsea won the 2012 Champions League on penalties, which was enough of an emotional benchmark that, frankly, is going to be hard to top.
So we keep going. One email at a time.
Because somewhere beneath the admin, the marketing, the hydration experiments, and the licensing exams, we are starting to get somewhere.
And, occasionally, you even get a 35/40 to prove it.