Tag Archives: London

On missing London

One of the only upsides to leaving town is that I have managed to see (and speak to) so many friends in the past week or so. During one conversation on Sunday I was asked “what you will miss the most about London”: good question. I know I will miss *London* but is that only because it is my familiar?

I know I will miss:

. my friends. or, more specifically, impromptu drinks after work; cosy suppers at both our house and friends/restaurants; those nights which just work because there is no pressure or event. Of course I will see and speak to everyone, it is just going to be different.

. materialistic I know, but, shopping. i know online shopping can and will net me the same goods but sometimes nothing beats going into a shop and receiving the goods. also useful for those last minute situations when you need whatever it is right now.

. working in the vintage shop. I love that gig and am so sad to have to give it up.

. choice. any kind of restaurant you like. any kind of club, entertainment, cinema, theatre, pub. supper at 12.30am in a proper restaurant. coffee at 6pm on a Sunday. museums, art galleries, the ballet.

. buses that run through the night. the welcome amber glow of an empty taxi.

. eating supper with Husband. sleeping in the same bed every night of the week.

. inspiring architecture. the view from waterloo bridge.

. if wanted, a sense of anonymity. or not. comes back down to choice i suppose.

. popping out for milk at 11pm.

. cupcakes from the Primrose Bakery.

. mobile phone signal.

Yet I really won’t miss:

. rush hour on the tube.

. no-one ever having the time to stop and stare.

. everyone wearing black coats.

. (yuck factor alert) blackness coming out of my nose when I blow it.

. realising that one season has passed into another and I have barely registered it.

. not knowing anyone on my street apart from my nearest neighbours.

. queuing to get out of the tube station before an Arsenal game (when all I want to do it go home for supper)

. noise. it never fully being dark. the backdrop of sirens. living under the City airport flight path.

. the foxes mating in the back garden. {although no doubt the countryside will have it’s fair share of noisy animals…}

In other news, packing continues so slowly it’s hard to see progress. Growing fond of freecycle and the things people rescue to keep out of landfill.

pmt and a splitting headache by the way. makes it hard to do anything else than see the negatives…

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In which we have one week left

Further research today reveals that other ‘famous’ neighbours in Exmoor will include Sir Ranulph Fiennes and Rachel Johnson (during school holidays at least). It also reveals that wearing Hunter wellies will mark me out as *from the town* and that I must not write about the lack of parmesan in the local village for fear of excommunication. I suspect that other things will mark me out as “not local” aside from my (aubergine) Hunter wellies, not least the fact that I really do not sound like I was born or grew up in West Somerset.

Still, for the time being, there are bigger things to worry about. Like paying the estate agents, who claim that they cannot receive money by online transfer as they will not know whether it is received until they receive their next statement. Or how we will make it to Somerset by 1pm next Saturday afternoon (when London is 4 hours drive away and we have an entire flat to load into a van/clean) so that we can pick up the keys to the flat, as that is when their office closes.

That and the fact that we have received information that our friends might be throwing us a surprise party next week. Only trouble is that the invitation to me was so low key I thought it was one drink with a couple of friends and didn’t mention it to Husband, who has a work dinner the same evening and so won’t be able to attend.