Some days, a coworking space beats the kitchen table

Remote work is brilliant. No commute. More time with family. Space to tend the garden between calls.

At university I commuted from Brighton to Hackney and worked in a call centre just to cover the extortionate Southern Rail fares. I do not miss that grind.

Later I led campaigns proving people could live and work near home. Building towns. Creating opportunities. Removing the need to uproot your life for the capital.

Covid only accelerated what we already knew. Work does not have to mean an office.

But here's the part that often gets lost. I love coworking. When I go into a coworking space, my productivity skyrockets.

I get dressed. I feel the sun on my face on the way to the train. I notice the seasons changing, see familiar faces at the station, bump into friends and colleagues, share ideas, laugh at playlists, listen to someone's struggles or celebrations, get a good cup of coffee, stroke a dog.

I come home not just with tasks ticked off, but with energy, inspiration and connection.

This isn't about choosing between home and office. It's about variety. The freedom to work where your energy is best matched to the day.

And it's about recognising that chance encounters matter. They spark ideas, lift moods, and sometimes change lives.

So yes, I love my home office. I love my sit stand desk and my walking pad. I love being present with my family in ways a nine to five never allowed.

But some days, a coworking space beats the kitchen table.