Dear London

Dear London,

We met properly six years ago, when you held my friends to ransom and told me that for the price of an Oyster Card that I could see them again. I pounded pavements, knocked on doors, sat in beige meeting rooms on blue felt covered chairs. We shook hands and I had a job. I stood next to The Thames on a summer’s night with men in suits all around and the lights on your bridges winked at me, signalling that I could finally pass through.

We had some misunderstandings. My initial bribe proved not to be enough for you to allow me to stay, so I had to work harder, and faster, to keep my flat. You ripped me off with your suggestions for ways to spend my leisure time, and your night buses lied to me. You would change the rules without consulting me, suddenly ending the Victoria Line at 10pm and leaving me to walk down the long, black Stockwell Road home.

You were competitive too. If I worked twelve hours, you would introduce me to someone who worked fourteen. If I earned a commission you would take it away with a congestion charge fine. You would dance and sing all night with me and then be up earlier than me carrying commuters to work while I put my head under my pillow to drown out the noise.

Although you took with one hand, you gave with another. In exchange for all my worldly finances, my free time and my sleep, you gave me boyfriends, new friends, and new-found confidence. You confiscated my daylight hours but you made my night times better. Once you had set out your operating terms you began to relax and reveal yourself. Green parks, hallowed museums, Temple Gardens punctuated the carousel of bedtime, office and Underground carriage. Saturdays were spent on long itineraries through Soho, Greenwich, Hampstead Village, London Zoo, bed, then Sunday to continue the adventure again.

Grasping at the few pieces of daylight you threw me I changed jobs to spend more time in the fresh air. You bestowed the most beautiful summer that I have ever known, and introduced me to Battersea fountains, Londonfields Lido and St James’ Park at dusk. More daylight hours opened up like a leisurely yawn, and you ceased to be a demanding landlord and became simply a place where lots of people live.

Since I settled with you I grew to like you. I even visited some of your relatives, like Shanghai and New York, but realised that I preferred your own peculiar brand of hospitality. London, you pretended you were a drug and you offered me all kinds of terrible things, but I did not break. When we were not friends on your terms, you decided to be friends on mine. Thank you for making me at home. Thank you for challenging me. And thank you for the following (more or less in chronological order).

Brixton, Cecilia, recruitment, Katie, Toby, Marc, James, Lidewei, Eat, The Thameside Inn, Borough Market, Southbank, Embankment, the French Corona Boat, Perry, jumping in fountains, Cathy, coffees, breakfasts, Monopoly Pub Crawl, Ollie, snooty parties, Regents Park, housewarming parties, Sainsbury’s Local, The George, The Wheatsheaf, the Americans, Fleetwood Mac live in concert, Halloween, Laura Potten’s visits, Tom, Blue Eyed Maid, James Pope, The Boat Show, The Old Bank of England, Fleet Street, Temple Gardens, Blackfriars, Bounds Green, whipped cream Kervan Sofrasi, Barish, OB10, Valentines Day singing, Tower of London, The London Eye, The London Aquarium, Frances Cherry Banana Republic, The Windmill, Imogen New Years resolutions, The Royal Court Theatre, Goldsboro Rd, Alex Di Stef, Dan Saunders, Chloe Gardner, roof terrace, mice, hammock, Monaco Grand Prix, The World Cup 2010, Annual Goldsboro Rd barbecue, December to Remember, Little Rachel on Vauxhall Embankment, a day off watching Blood Diamond, The Hawksmoor, journalism, my desk, Green Park, hedge funds, PR agencies, The PAM Awards, James Grant Morris, Hester Plumridge, Adelina, Simona, Jos, ironing shirts, washing boxer shorts, The Reunions, Celebrity Big Brother 2010, goodbyes at Oxford Circus, Phantom of the Opera, Blood Brothers, Wicked, Chicago, surprise boat birthday party, Alex, Brockley, Stefan, Tom, Chelsea Harbour, High Street Kensington, The Victoria and Albert Museum, The Museum of London, Boris Bikes, Brockwell Lido, The Serpentine, Londonfields Lido, Hampstead Ponds, London Bridge, Rachel Butler, risotto, air mattresses, fridge freezers, The Shipwright Arms, Scampi fries, The Swan, Nuffield Health Centre, Pizza Express Sundays, Katie wine evenings, Lousia Sicily tripping, Becky, ICIS Heren, Selene, Fionn, Chris, Jamie, Jason, Simon, Domitille, Silvia, water fights in the fountains, evenings in Lincolns Inn Fields, The Ship, Hammersmith, Thomson Reuters, Tower Bridge, Haz, Rob, Rod, Canary Wharf, poached eggs, walks, Pret a Manger breakfasts, Sunday night soups, Tower Bridge swimming pool, Virgin Active 200 lengths, Charlotte, Brockwell chats, The Olympics, Jordan, Debtwire, Tea Pigs, The Angelic, Club de Fromage, taking photos, Southwold, toast and tea, Tottenham Hale, canal walks, rug lying, The Poor School, black cabs, Monopoly, Streatham Hill flatpacking, Tom, Ipswich, Mussels, gin under the table, chapel by the sea wedding, sleep talks, sociopaths next door, squids in buckets, floating hobbit holes, Jamie, TV shelf intrusion, nightcaps, supermodels on the roof, moor hens (coots), the endless seach for a launderette, bicycling, Hoxton morning coffee, Vietnamese eating, wanders with Fran, late night walks, Hackney Wick, Hackney Marshes, Limehouse Basin, The Grapes Pub, Stamford Hill cycling, park wardens cottages, Temple wedding, Orleans House wedding, Isleworth six hour trekking…and particularly the Isleworth trekking, thank you!