We’ve done it. Moved, that is, from our beloved London to …the ‘burbs.
My relationship with the city I’ve called home is like the one I have with my children: there are times (many) when it drives me nuts, but I’ll still love the place dearly and I refuse to hear a bad word said against it .
So here are the things that I’ll miss …
(1) Rolling out of my front door and landing smack bang in the centre. Of everything. #CentreOfTheUniverse
(2) Popping out to the supermarket when I’ve forgotten something. #OopsIForgotToBuyFoodForDinnerButHeyIt’sAllRight
(3) The cool associated with living in London. Saying I live in the boonies just doesn’t have the same ring. #OhGodIThinkI’veBecomeMiddleAged
(4) Bruno at La Fromagerie who understands my family’s pathological obsession with the shop’s chestnut honey and how it’s a major crisis when we (and they) run out. #LaFromagerieRocks
(5) Dave the doorman at The Marylebone Hotel. We pass him everyday on our way to nursery. He always says hello and puts a smile on our faces. #ThereAreSomeNicePeopleInLondonToo
(6) Speaking of nice people: Jesus at Le Pain Quotidien. Actually, his name isn’t Jesus. But he looks like Jesus. He’s German and his beard needs a trim. But he’s a very nice man. Want good service and delicious daily bread? Go seek him out. #GermanJesusAtLePainQuotidien
(7) 3G and 4G mobile network. There’s no such thing as a mobile signal out here. #SorryIHaveToRoamAroundGardenToGetAGoodSignal
(8) The Noise. I don’t miss it (see below), but my children do. #MamaWhyIsItSoQuietHere?
(9) The Pierre Marcolini Chocolate shop. An outlet recently opened up around the corner from us. Heaven, pure heaven, albeit for just a few weeks. (Sigh) #ItWasn’tMeWhoAteAllTheChocolateHonest
(10) Daunt Books. Has to be the best bookshop ever. Enter, and it’s like stepping into another world. #HoneyICouldn’tHelpMyself-IBoughtTenMoreBooks
…And here are the things I won’t miss as much:
(1) Mindlessly driving around trying to find a parking place. #IhaveAParkingPermitDammitAndYouChauffeurManShouldn’tBeParkedThere
(2) The person who did a sloppy number two next to our front door. #DoYouKnowWhatAToiletIs?
(3) The drunken neighbours across the road who play cricket. At Midnight. On the rooftop. #GoFindAParkYouNutters
(4) The noise. It’s not just the sirens, the constant rumble of traffic, but also the Arab playboys flooring their Lambourginis/Porsches/Ferraris down New Cavendish Street. #FYILewisHamiltonUsesARacetrack
(5) The amorous couple next door. Although you’ve been quiet of late. Did you break-up? Did you read my blog and take the hint? #ShrieksInTheNight
(6) The pollution, obviously. We lived moments away from the capital’s most polluted hotspot. #DoctorDoctorMyLungsAreTurningBlack
(7) The St. Tropez teenagers hanging out at the Amanzi Teashop. Their designer handbags containing their designer dogs. When my four-year-old said she wanted a Chihuahua I knew it was time to leave. #DaddyJustBoughtMeAYacht
(8) Coffee at Paul the bakery. It’s disgusting. Here’s a plea to the Paul baristas: Please, please, please, spend some time, take the effort to make a good latte. #IPaid£3ForACupOfDishwater???
(9) The lift in our building. Such a testament to inferior engineering. Why oh why did it always breakdown? Why oh why was it always me complaining to get it fixed? And why oh why could no one ever sort the problem out? I hated that lift. I detested it for making me trudge up and down five flights of stairs countless times. If I were a bearded, ultra-conservative mullah, I’d issue a fatwa to eliminate the lift. But I’m not. But guess what? It’s not my problem anymore! #ThereMUSTBeAPoltergeistInTheLift
(10) Which leads me onto …our resident ghost. You said very little, but you were always there, skulking in the corner. I know you tried to communicate. You did say, hello once. And you did make your presence known in other ways: the cups jumping up and down, your playful ways with the TV (and my children.) And I do applaud you for saying loud and clear in my ear, in the early hours one morning just a few days before we moved, that you were shocked. I’m not sure what you were shocked about – were you expressing surprise that we were leaving? Were you trying to say you’d miss us? If that’s the case, I’m sorry, Mr. Ghost (for you are male, that much I know) but I just won’t miss you.
Until next time!