Life at a Snail’s Pace 慢不下来生活.docVIP

Life at a Snail’s Pace 慢不下来生活 　　Yesterday began like any other working day. So by 8：35 am I was already late and already in a hurry， trotting1） at my signature2） ungainly3） speeded-up clatter along the pavement， my phone clamped beneath shoulder and chin， listening to voicemails as I counted out money in my palm. Every morning as I leave the house， I count my change and work out which combination of newspapers and magazines I can buy at the tube station without having to waste crucial seconds waiting for change or （unthinkable， this） queueing behind another customer who might send my morning into a tailspin4） by rummaging5） in their bag for their wallet or engaging the newsagent in conversation. 　　I was already five minutes late at this stage， having wasted two minutes making arrangements for my son to be taken to his piano lesson， another minute running upstairs when I remembered that the half-price voucher6） for the StartRite shoes I needed to pick up for my daughter at lunchtime was still on my dressing table， a good 20 seconds working out the answer to an urgent domestic query （“how many days is it now until we go and see Walking with Dinosaurs， Mummy？” Since you ask， it’s 137） and then another minute in a second round of kissing. 　　So there I was， running down the steps into the tube station with coins in one hand， Oyster card7） in the other， when the last voicemail came through. It was my editor. “Can you write a piece about the Go Slow movement8） today？ You need to stop rushing about. It’s the new thing， apparently.” 　　That stopped me in my tracks. The very notion of slowing down is completely alien. And it’s not just me. The speed of passengers racing down the stairs either side of me， and their barely concealed huffs9） as they were forced to deviate centimetres from the fastest route from A to B in order to accommodate the irritating woman standing still， made it pretty clear that frantic has become the norm. 　　But later this month， the Go Slow movement ar