I’D LIKE TO believe that I wasn’t jumping on the bandwagon. But don’t we all tell ourselves little white lies to keep our self-worth intact?

It was November 2017. I was jolted awake by the rousing sound of a deliciously obnoxious four-stroke engine. The alarm clock sound, ‘motorcycle’, blared out of my iPhone’s speakers, an inch from my ear. I smiled sleepily to myself, my petrol-head nostalgia pleasingly sated before I’d even thrown off my doona. Opening my eyes provided a little less joy: still dark outside. The jury remained out on whether my Sudanese-born, Brisbane-raised body would ever become accustomed to the European winter’s apparent allergy to light. Sun – if any would be able to make its way through the dense layer of grey draped over London – wouldn’t make an appearance until well after 8 am. By then, though, it wouldn’t matter much: I would be deep in the throes of my daily cryptocurrency market routine.