I’ve been thinking a lot about London lately. Probably because I find myself in front of the tv a lot, breastfeeding, and London seems to be on the telly all the time. This morning on Sunrise they crossed live to the Leicester Square premiere of the new James Bond film and I actually cried. How many times I wandered through Leicester Square with the world at my feet, eating Ben and Jerrys, pottering around the book stores on Charing Cross Road, meeting friends for a film or a play or a glass of wine at All Bar One.


But I do realise I’m perennially guilty of skewing all my memories with large doses of rosy nostalgia and that wherever I used to be is always a much nicer place than where I am right now. All it takes is a quick flick through my old journals to remind myself that life in London wasn’t easy. In fact, I probably spent more time in Leicester Square on disastrous dates, hunting for hours for cabs on cold wet nights (and then giving up and taking the night bus with all the drunks), eating terrible food in a hurry, and cursing the fact that there were too many people plodding along in front of me at a snails pace when I was rushing to get somewhere.

My friend L sent me an email two days ago – it was an email I’d written her midway through last year, and she forwarded it back to me to remind me just how much life can change from one year to the next.

I had just returned from a three week trip to Australia. I had my 17 year old sister, M, with me and was “between flats” – all my stuff was in the garage at my old flatmates’ place in Canary Wharf, the lease with my new flatmate wasn’t due to start for another week, and so I’d found a self-contained short let studio in the back of TNT magazine to tide us over.


This is the email:
-----------------------------

From: c.s@b-bank.com
Sent: 31 May 2007 10:52
To: LT
Subject: The horror

God, what chaos. I feel like an alcoholic or something, I have the shakes. So much for being all refreshed after a holiday.

I'm falling in a big heap over here... people screaming at me for stuff at work (I am either clueless or disinterested), no time to stop and catch my breath or write any emails or make any calls, still trying to sort out house move stuff, and here's how my last 24 hours unfolded:

3.30pm On the phone to Louise at E-Recruitment about a contract opportunity when my phone battery dies. It's so dead I can't even revive it beyond the start up screen.

4.30pm Back to the other building, log on to yahoo mail and email her to apologise.

5pm Leave to go to Willesden Green to meet the accommodation people.

6.15pm Go to the studio (it's out the back of a house, in Queens Park). The electricity is on a meter so I need to charge it up at the local shops. There is a tiny double bed in spite of my repeated requests for a twin. I have to pay 5% extra for credit card. All the usual annoying London accommodation dramas.

6.30pm Head back to D's place to meet M and take our stuff back to the studio. Lots of struggling up and down the steps at the tube stations with two ridiculously heavy suitcases, two handbags and two bags of food. One solitary gentleman assists on the final leg at Queen's Park.

8.45pm Arrive at the studio only to realise I've left my phone charger at D's. There are no towels in the studio. Dilemma: No clothes to wear to work tomorrow. No towel to shower with. No phone charger to plug phone in and get phone numbers to ring the old flatmates and ask if I can come round in the morning, etc.

9pm Buy a tea towel at the off licence and go off for a very nice dinner at Niki Noodle (an oasis in the Queens Park desert)

5.45am Shower, wash hair and dry off with a tea towel. Dress in jeans and tshirt, take the tube to Bank, meet D who's brought me my charger, then take DLR to Blackwall.

8.15am See MN and SD (old flatmates) on the street (how lucky!) They suggest I take their keys and let myself in after I've got my things out of the garage.... That way I can iron my work outfit. Good plan, with hindsight (how crinkled do you think clothes can get in 3 and a half weeks??)

8.30am Helpful stranger holds the garage door up for me while I secure it with a box of books. Helpful stranger leaves.

8.45am Finish gathering bits and pieces. Remove box of books and watch with horror as garage door slams shut leaving me in complete darkness with my handbag and all my things on the other side.

9am (just about in tears, punching and kicking the door, screaming out HELLO! HELLO!) Finally some footsteps and a small voice on the other side, a young guy who tries for a few minutes then informs me the door is stuck on one side. (Probably because I buckled it when I was throwing my bodyweight against it). I slide the key out to him and he tries for about 5 mins then suggests I call someone. I say "no, please don't leave me! My phone's outside in my handbag and the battery's flat so I don't even know who I can ring!"

9.10am Seriously sweaty now, and still imploring the stranger not to leave me, and to keep trying.

9.20am Finally! Success! I thank him profusely, cart all my crap upstairs, including the box of books that went everywhere when it fell down the outside of the garage door, and iron myself a pair of trousers and a top, as best I can given that they look like they've literally been through the wringer.

9.40am Turn up at work, sweaty, stinking, hair everywhere, two big plastic bags under my arms, a picture of serenity. Am berated for being late for an important meeting.

How ridiculous is my life?

Right now I'm craving a little house by the ocean, a picket fence, a dog and a cat, a wireless network, and no need to go anywhere requiring a suitcase EVER AGAIN.

C
xx
-----------------------------

Yep, those were the days.