It’s the middle of the week, and I’m boarding a flight. There’s a baby crying behind me, and a nearby passenger is already complaining about the plane’s fridge being broken (there’s no ice).

To make matters worse, I don’t know where I’m going and my boarding pass specifically tells me that the airline is not responsible, under any circumstances, for my final destination. It’s all, quite frankly, a lot to deal with for a Wednesday night.

But I haven’t found myself on some spur-of-the-moment twisted version of Race Across The World. No, it’s actually a bit weirder than that.

I’m in a 24ft shipping container outside Aviva Studios . The flight isn’t real, the passengers aren’t real, and, being honest, I’m not sure if any of it is real at this point.

Just an hour earlier, I had my hands l

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