One of my favourite things about my last job was the coffee machine in the kitchen.

It was one of those small, barista-styles ones with a milk frother and a machine to grind the beans. I loved it so much that I would sometimes come in a whole 30 minutes early while the office was still quiet. I'd relish in making a nice coffee without having to rush, or feel multiple eyes burning holes into my back as others queued impatiently.

I don't want to say that it was one of the main selling points of the job, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't factor it into my pro-con list after the interview.

A lot of my favourite jobs have been ones where a nice coffee machine was involved. There's just something about taking a little mid-morning break to brew yourself a cup from scratch that feels like a nice little circuit breaker in the day.

Even some of the worst work environments have been slightly salvaged, because I knew that at some point I could escape to the kitchen or break room and have a little caffeine-induced escapism, even if it was just for a few minutes.

I think my strange little love affair with coffee started the summer between second and third year of university when I was working as a barista/waitress. It was the first time I had used a proper coffee machine, and there was something about the whole process that fascinated me. Not just the act of making coffee itself, but I also loved cleaning the machine and all of its parts at the end of the day. It always felt really meditative to me.

After I graduated and started moving from one mundane office job to another, I always had a wish at the back of my mind to buy my own little coffee machine for home.

But the stars never did quite align. For many years I was either living at someone's house as a lodger, or I was in an anonymous London house share situation where I didn't trust people not to break it, or I simply didn't have the funds to buy a good machine.

That was until last year, when my best friend told me that she had gotten her dream job in Sheffield, our old uni town, and whether I'd be down for moving back in with her.

The answer was an obvious, 100%, enthusiastic Hell Yes. And after the initial excitement of moving in with my best friend (and finally out of London) simmered down a bit, I was immediately giddy at the prospect of finally buying my own coffee machine.

The timing couldn't be more perfect, right? I was moving into a space of my own, with one other person I trusted, and now I'm self-employed and spending approximately 98% of my time at home.

So, approximately 6 months after moving in—and an additional two-week delay where the machine was accidentally delivered to my old address in London—she's here.

My very own coffee machine.

She doesn't grind beans, but she does come with her own little milk frother.

(Also I don't know why I've gendered the coffee machine like I'm some weird old man with a boat, but we move.)

(Also also—'She' by Harry Styles started playing as I started writing this section lolol.)

When she finally arrived, I spend a great deal of time unboxing her carefully, reading the instructions thoroughly, and cleaning each and every part meticulously before making my first brew. It was an entirely meditative experience.

And I can't wait to have more moments of caffeine-induced escapism everyday, on my own terms.