Friday, 17 September 2010

Parting shot

Things I will be glad to see the back of:

Transport: a given. The July 7 underground evacuation was just the start of my horror. I will certainly not miss the sound of someone throwing up down the back of my seat while the person next to me plays grime music at top volume, but I do not dare say anything in case he has a knife in his pocket. For that matter, always worrying if people have knives in their pockets.

Prices: being charged more for a pint than I would cough up for a bottle of supermarket wine. The very northern trait of commenting on the price of everything has been amplified here.
'£15 for a Sunday roast?' (followed by sharp intake of breath)

The self-righteous male execs I worked with who think if you have a northern accent/did not go to private school you are a sub species. These are the type of men you would warmly welcome some sort of war/uprising for, so they could expose themselves as the truly useless humans they are. Your long words and smug chops can’t help you now, Rupert! Pow pow pow!!

The fact a pitbull is a must-have accessory in certain boroughs.

Fashion. In Shoreditch especially. No, you do not look good in skinny red jeans, yellow neon top and silly moustache.

Proper London accents. Also the reason I cannot watch EastEnders but I can watch Corrie. Nah wot a mean, bruv?

Eating shrivelled canteen baked potatoes al desko every day.

My insomnia, which has blossomed over the past few years.

The fungus in my bathroom.

And to prove I am not a complete misery guts, things I will miss about London (as well as certain people, of course):

The cheeky squirrels. They are not rats with cute tails. I even like the junkie ones.

Gordon's wine bar on Embankment. Unconditionally.|8

My charity shop volunteering – who knew hanging up polyester pants while hanging out with autistic people and petty thieves could be so much fun?

Borough Market – even though my recently diagnosed coeliacs means I have to avoid the cake and sausage roll stalls and eat a burger off a cabbage leaf instead.

Free/cheap hair cuts at the Vidal Sasson training academy. Although my present give-me-confidence-for-the-first-day-of-new-job hairstyle does have a pink streak in it (‘Oh no, it’s MINK darling, it looks good HONESTLY.’)

Canary Wharf - weirdly. I am strangely sentimental about the shiny place where I used to work. And the parties on boats moored nearby.

My mobile phone, which I lost in the pub during my leaving drinks last night. Although I did acquire a Santa hat.

And that is it. The bags are packed, the van is booked and the bathroom has almost returned to its original colour. So long London. And thank God for that.


  1. Complaining is slipping. Don't slip. Belly up. It saves you from blaming everything on everyone else.

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