I thought today about writing down a list of what’s stopping me making the changes I want to make, to serve as a reminder of why when my resolve might be weakening.
1. It’s not the first time I have seriously contemplated how to get the hell out of London. Once I spent months planning an escape to Edinburgh after a familial visit. This only went on hold when I chanced upon an ex-boyfriend on friends reunited who was still living in Cardiff and decided to set my sights on that instead (easier and closer). The fact I was using him as a means to return to a much-loved home soon became apparent and the whole thing collapsed. By then Edinburgh had been forgotten and I embarked on a dating whirl in London to build up my self-esteem, thus all thoughts of moving out became secondary to finding my soulmate. But the original motivation for leaving never went away, it just died down whilst other things took priority. When my husband and I first visited Rye, it was for a weekend break so we could see if we could stand each other for 2 whole days. I chose it as it was small, peaceful and near the sea – all the things I regularly crave. It lived up to my expectations and every subsequent trip only reinforced how much better a place like Rye fitted me than the place I currently live.
London and I fell out of love a long time ago (and no amount of relationship counselling is going to help!).
2. I don’t want/enjoy all the things that London can offer. London is a box of mixed chocolates – I hate the white ones, can take or leave the plain dark ones, gorge on the few milk ones that I love and end up feeling sick about the whole thing! I have tried to embrace everything that London has to offer and have done courses, joined clubs, found friends to attend exercise classes with and visited as much of it as possible to have truly given it a go. My ‘circuit’ as my hubby calls the places he frequents when he has free time, has vastly reduced and is not getting any bigger. Far from it, it only ever seems to get smaller! New places invariably disappoint and old places lose their sheen. London may never sleep and changes constantly but change in itself is not a good thing. Everything nowadays is about being the newest, most original and most exciting, but not always the best. I actually crave the familiar, and find nothing more comforting than going back somewhere and finding things as they were/should be. I am all for improvements but I also believe firmly in the ‘if it aint broke, don’t try to fix it’ adage and this sums up London all over. A tweak here and there and they relaunch something on the gullible public, day in day out, all in pursuit of financial gain. Unless I am planning a life in the Outer Hebrides (which I’m not – yet!) London is never that far away so if I really wanted to see/visit something, it’s doable.
London is for others now; I’ve clearly had my fill.
3. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Sometimes when I go back to an old stomping ground in London I get a lovely sense of nostalgia. Chiswick now is a pretty little villagey place with cute boutiques. When I lived there it was a chore to shop there on a Saturday, squeezing in a shop at the inadequate-sized Sainsburys, dodging the yummy mummies and bugaboos and I couldn’t get home fast enough. The King’s Road is a trip down memory lane, given how many bars I frequented and remembering the things I bought there with my first half-way decent pay cheques. When I walked it every day battling the other commuters on my way to work I couldn’t get the journey over fast enough. Neither place inspires me to return permanently but I have fond memories now when I do see them. I am currently cursing about life in Greenwich – I am sure it too will have a rosy glow when I’ve gone. I’d much rather that than end up hating it all so much that I have no inclination to ever return. What is it they say about leaving before the rot sets in properly?
London is definitely worth a visit but no-one should feel duty-bound to sacrifice their life to it.
4. I never was a big city person. I’ve always preferred more manageable places that I can walk around without needing to use public transport or even, for my holidays, places that were in the back of beyond. If there is one thing guaranteed to set my teeth on edge it’s a crowd. That was always the case but it’s certainly got worse as I’ve got older. I had a friend who was so determined to wind me up (don’t ask me why – she chose never to share the reasons with me and simply defriended me on facebook as a statement) that she insisted I meet her one evening at Covent Garden tube and nowhere else; places that I proposed being ones which I considered that bit quieter. Just being in the vicinity of Covent Garden brings me out in hives but standing there being jostled by other folk, having someone on either side speaking far too loudly into a mobile, screeching and screaming from everywhere and the general ‘tourist trap’ aura that hangs over it made me seethe. She then insisted on eating at Belgos (pouting when I suggested that trading standards had accused them of poor hygiene) and to keep her happy I agreed. Belgo’s is one of those joints where a mass of people is seen as a prerequisite and turnover must be fast in order to create a ‘buzz’ in the place. Well, that’s the marketing hype. Reality is it’s deafeningly noisy, the waiter bugs you every 2 minutes to hurry you along and the conveyor belt kitchen produces sub-standard food which is usually tepid by the time it reaches you. Even she couldn’t ignore the poor quality of both food and service, nor the utterly filthy unisex loos. I like small, cosy and quiet places. Huge warehouse like joints crammed with people are simply abhorrent. London is full of them, its squares are teaming with tourists night and day and a walk in the park is like a stroll down the M6 motorway. What’s to like?
London often feels like a cesspit full of ugly people, buildings, motives and feelings.
5. I don’t really like other people. I grew up with few friends. This annoyed the hell out of my mother and she chastised me regularly for not being popular. Fact is, I have never suffered fools gladly. I can’t recall being so discerning as to have chosen not to have friends, but I think I put every potential one off by not being ‘compliant’. I was never destined to be the sort of girl everyone else wanted to be. I was quite clearly one of those meant to be relegated to the sidelines at school, Miss Ordinary, the only exception being my academic achievements, which were above average. I didn’t suck up to or endear myself to the sort of folk whom everyone else admired. Being friends with the popular ones was out of the question: they didn’t like me and, truth be told, I didn’t like them. I’ve never seen a reason to hang out with people unless I truly enjoy their company. If I don’t, I won’t. Over the years I have broken this rule and always lived to regret it, but no more. I am very selective about who I spend time with now and a city like London does not help me achieve that goal. Here I have to suffer other people, like it or not – at work, on my commute, in the shops etc. I never go in somewhere and have the place all to myself. I love being in a town where I am truly the only woman in the coffee shop or browsing a boutique. I spent a childhood at family parties, down the rugby club wherever I went with my parents, surrounded by folk they invariably slagged off later. Why? Why not stay at home and save yourself the bother? I happily spend time with my selected friends and family when the mood takes me, but as for everyone else, thanks but I think I will live without the brain-dulling company of many and will appreciate the benefit of the few!
London is too frantic, busy and stuffed full of people to ever satisfy my cravings for peace, quiet and harmony.
6. London and money go together like pie and mash. London is for the rich. To be fair, this is less about the cost of living (which is high but not as exorbitant as people imagine and I am noticing more and more London type prices outside of the metropolis) and more about the avariciousness of the inhabitants. The reason it is for the rich is that London is all about money. People work here to make money and spend a lot of it in the shops, bars and restaurants in the centre. They slide out of their offices, effortlessly into a black cab and out again at the latest place to see and be seen. What goes on around them is irrelevant, just as long as their wine is chilled, the starters are on their way and their dealer doesn’t let them down later. For Joe Bloggs coming into London to do a desk job there is little to praise. Most commuters try to leave on the earliest possible train, other than when they are obliged to meet someone after work. Twentysomethings get high on the social side, which is fun while it lasts but the shine soon goes off it when their credit card bill arrives; over the limit for the enth month running. Elsewhere you don’t need to be a ‘name’ to get a table at a good restaurant or the right kind of clothes to get into a decent shop. Where we go at weekends the retailers welcome anyone who comes through their door without a ritual appraisal of what they might be worth and you can only get a table at the best restaurant if you are local or lucky, not by name dropping or flashing the cash.
London is for show-offs; something I never have been and am sure I never will be.
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