We’re all right mugs, aren’t we? Falling in love with London, I mean. It’s been four years, for me, and we’re still in that mad, infatuated phase when you just can’t get enough of each other. We spend every weekend together, and invitations from bemused friends as far-flung as Milton Keynes..! go politely declined. Hell, even a trip to Zone 3 requires at least four weeks’ notice and a damn good reason. Like a funeral, or some sort of fabulous pop-up restaurant.
And it’s the most high maintenance relationship I’ve ever had; more demanding than the most jealous of lovers and more expensive than even the boyfriend who consistently nicked my moisturiser for two whole years. Caught in a city crammed with cocktail bars, cabaret clubs and Michelin star-spangled restaurants, we Londoners live our lives in a perpetual state of FOMO. It’ll suck you down and spit you back out, empty-pocketed and bag-eyed, but dripping with stories and memories of good times past.
Occasionally, someone breaks free of London’s siren song and heads – literally – for the hills. Hills, or another faraway metropolis, where the price of a roof to call your own falls somewhere within the great bell curve of possibility. The rest of us, content to spend our years gleefully hurling tens of thousands of pounds into that yawning black chasm called Rent, wish them well, and carry on.
Like I said, we’re all mugs. It’s crazy the things we do, isn’t it, when we’re in love?’
Read more of Emily’s musings at curious-london.co.uk