So I know that this blog is primarily for writing about places in the UK that I’m touring to, but I just couldn’t help but pause for a moment and revisit the city closest to my heart: London. I made the decision that whilst I was rehearsing in Eastbourne I would commute back to this wonderfully crowded, expensive, polluted city on the weekends, and let me tell you I have not regretted that decision.
You see, the fresh seaside air, giant seagulls, friendly people and amazing icecream sundaes is good for a while. Actually to be exact, it is good for five days in a week. The other two days are best spent back in chaotic London…dodging the crowds, cursing the tube and trading in the sound of seagulls for honking buses. This might all sound a little crazy…but then again, you have to be at least a little crazy to move to the other side of the world and exchange dollars for pounds; sunshine for grey.
I have a love/hate relationship with this city. I think that everyone does. There is no doubt that it is a difficult place to live. There is a heaviness that comes with living in one of the biggest most exciting places on earth. The lack of sunshine certainly does not inspire you to get out of bed in the morning and if you find yourself on Oxford Street anytime between 12pm-6pm you actually begin to contemplate murder. But then just as you want to throw your hands up in the air and give up, the sun comes out for one beautiful second and people smile at you on the street and you realise why you are here. There is nothing quite like a walk along the beautiful (if not dirty) Thames in the sunshine, looking out at Big Ben, St Pauls Cathedral, and passing by Shakespeare’s Globe. Nor is there anything more delightful than strolling down the architecturally stunning Regent Street or watching the street performers and opera singers in Covent Garden with a SNOG in hand.
But most of all, it’s the people. A wise person once said to me that it’s not the city itself that matters but the friends that you have in it, and I can say with absolute confidence that I am surrounded by the most generous, loving friends anyone could ask for. And THAT is why I come back to London on the weekends.
Even BEFORE my train had departed Eastbourne I knew I was to have dinner on the table when I arrived home and a weekend of catchups with wonderful people.
Perhaps it was this thought that led to the feeling of joy I experienced when I disembarked at Victoria station, or as I sat on the stuffy tube playing solitaire on my iphone. When I stepped out and smelt the dirty air at Stockwell, I actually smiled and thought, ‘Hello London, I’m home.’
Even my favourite homeless black man was waiting for me! He often sits outside Stockwell station with very few teeth, a Jamaican doily hat and a huge smile on his face, strumming one chord on his guitar and sporadically composing songs. That man will sit there all day and all night…sometimes I’ve come home at 10pm or 11pm and he’s still there, strumming and smiling away yelling ‘God bless you’ to the people who put money in his hat (and let me tell you, there ALWAYS seems to be money in his hat…maybe that’s why he’s so happy?)
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