339 days ago, I moved to London…
In those first days, people would ask regularly ‘are you absolutely loving it’? Those exact words.
And I didn’t have a good answer. Did I? I really wasn’t sure.
It was good. I liked it. It suited me. But love?
It’s hard to love something so familiar and so strange all at once.
But, after nearly a year, I’ve realised that to love London is to admit you’re thrilled by something massive, sprawling, wonky, overcrowded, brilliant, bonkers, irreverent, complicated and altogether glorious.
It’s like a proper relationship. You’ll have your good days, your bad days, and the days that make you feel like there could never, ever be another city for you.
Which is strange to say as I know a big part of my heart still belongs to Edinburgh (and I gave away some of it to Brooklyn and Tokyo too)… but it’s impossible to think of anywhere else when you’re staring up at Big Ben or gazing down on St Paul’s.
It’s the old and new. The history. The heartbeat.
It’s the music that spills out of tiny flats on hot summer nights. It’s the solidarity of waiting on late buses. It’s the smiles in the crowds. It’s the voices you hear in the streets. The laughter, the anger, the humanness of it all.
So here’s to you, you wildly strange place I now call home… this is my love letter to you, all with the help of a shiny marble and a rather gorgeous Spring day.
Yes, I think we can definitely call this love.
Love you London. Thanks for the last 339 days, here’s to many more xx