I just barely entered this world as an urbanite. Plagued with concerns of street cred even before I left the womb, my pregnant mother was rushed to a hospital in
Washington
D.C.
So regardless of the fact that she would take her newborn from the city hospital to a suburb in
Maryland
, relocate to another suburb in
London
and then yet another suburb in northern
Virginia
, at least my official place of birth was a DC. Maybe this displacement from urban hospital to suburban upbringing is the reason for my ongoing obsession with all things urbane.
Barely legal, at seventeen I said good bye not only to my small town but to the city I had come of age in. By that time even D.C. felt too small for me. The excitement of being a big city girl was palpable from the flight over.
Once “settling in” (unpacking two suitcases, plugging in my mini hi-fi, blu tacking dozens of DC rave flyers to the walls) I began to gorge myself on late nights, far reaching boroughs, tube and night bus rides. On subcultures; ( gay scene, dyke scene, fetish scene, lounge scene, swing kid scene, 50’s scene, hip-hop scene, indie scene, drum and bass scene, alternative arts scene). On fringe theatre, film festivals, and contemporary dance. On performance art, installations, big scale galleries, posh private galleries, poetry readings and open mics..
Practically on a liquid diet, I drank endless mugs of tea and coffee in early morning greasy spoon caffs and late night café’s. I drank glass after glass of an assortment of spirits and mixers, as well as wine, cider (I was a student o.k.??!!) cocktails. I drank in pubs, clubs and illegal late night “licensed” bars. I never went out of my way to acquire drugs, and certainly never bought them, but if it was there….i took poppers (I was a student and on the gay scene) ecstasy, mdma, speed, coke, spliffs, space cakes. (Surprisingly I didn’t touch a cigarette until many years later). I stayed up and out for hours talking to almost strangers about all this LIFE we were living.
I was allegedly also a student studying stage management at the highly (over?)rated Royal Academy of Dramatic Art. In theory this course was the sole reason for me being in this fair city. But in practice the course felt like a sideline. I had always had an ongoing infatuation with
London
, but living here…
My infatuation had catapulted into a passionate affair.
London
had a sultry air about her. There was no doubt we were in the honeymoon stage.
And then came the fall-out
As the cliché goes, finally the girl about town had a mobile jammed to capacity with numbers. But who were these ninety-nine people? Where did they live? What were their surnames? Why was it easier to organize a one night stand, than a meaningful chat with a real friend? The vastness of the city swallowed me whole. I didn’t feel like I was racing along with the masses. I felt like the masses were racing past me, at every conceivable angle, and yet all managing to slip by without even the slightest physical contact.
I remember expressing all this at
4am
in a phone booth on
Chenies street
. Twenty pounds of phone card wasted away, as I rambled on to my dearest friend in northern
virginia
. When I finished speaking to her (or rather when my lack of credit nearly cut me off) I felt relieved at having connected with someone, but embarrassed it couldn’t be someone here. Had the city conquered me? Even if I had doubts,
London
kept me at arms reach. I watched her chew up and spit out hundreds of others who tried to get serious with her. I was sad to see these friends leave, but as one departed another arrived. The double doors to the city kept swinging. And then just when my relationship with
London
felt secure, I tired of it..
I had a new crush, on
New York
. Like the worst kind of ex-girlfriend my departure from
London
was coy. My words and actions implied I may or may not come come back.
New York
made me work for her. She was the type who liked to test you, make you struggle a bit. Maybe because when you get chat up as often as she does, you need to be a bit more discerning… to see who’s for real.
I wasn’t quite as for real as I thought. I loved the idea of
New York
. But crucially, I didn’t’ have the means to experience it in the way I had
London
. Money was a big issue. Lack of it meant forgetting about the performances, galleries, bars and clubs. The subway system baffled me completely. At any rate, I didn’t have a rough idea of any part of town to explore or branch out from. Timing can be critical in starting a relationship. Maybe in my urgency to pursue
new york
, I lost sight of the fact it wasn’t the right time.
My failure to settle in showed itself one day in the unlikely locale of barnes and noble (a bookshop masquerading as a library, and used as such). A small display of tiny coffee table books caught my attention. Each one featured a different city. I flipped through the tome on
London
and was flooded with the most intense wave of homesickness I have ever felt. It wasn’t just related to missing friends (who by this point were now closer to me than most I’d grown up with), or my family (the cousin and aunt who had picked up where my parents had left off). It was absolutely everything from architecture to accents. I flipped through pages in a daze. I caught myself on the verge of tears, dropped the book and dashed out the door.
What on earth was I doing with this
New York
dame?
Even from the either side of the ocean
London
taunted me. And with the assured resilience the british are so noted for,
London
calmly waited for me to come to my senses, and come back to her… I did. But I returned to
New York
many more times, for longer and shorter periods. I have few friends there but those that I have are the closest kind. I still have a lot of affection of
new york
. I catch up with her from time to time and fall in love with her a little again. But though I may toy with the idea of what might have been…we definitely get a long better as friends.
On every opportunity I travel to other cities and am astonished by lower cost of living, culinary perfections, gorgeous weather, breathtaking architecture. And yet I am always happy at the end of my trip to return to
London
. Maybe it’s in my blood? Not so much from my british father, but from the anglophile mother that raised me on fond reflections of this city. And I find myself following patterns my family lay down years ago; studying in convent garden where my great great grandmother sold flowers, living on
gower street
where my maternal grandfather taught, working in kings cross near where my paternal grandfather grew up. Indeed I often wonder if my innate connection with east
London
comes from my grandfather. (They say you choose a side when you move here (or if your born here your parents choose a side), and stay there.)
But ultimately my love of
London
is in her character. She is cosmopolitan in the truest sense of the word. She is a clash of foreign cultures and intrinsic Englishness. She is a vibrant world of all things creative, coupled with an English modesty that refuses to boast how very fabulous it all is. I started this entry apologising for my suburban background. But maybe that background is largely why I’m too passionate about this city to take it for granted. I chose
London
. I’ve found a life partner in her. And when you’ve found the one, you stop looking elsewhere. 
God is really funny by the way, even if s/he is very coy about answering certain questions. Some of my co-workers started talking to god. The following exchange was the most telling.
introducing someone to your family. 
