Sometimes I stop, just for a second and I think: This is it, I love London. It happened today, crossing the Thames, swathes of misty rain cloaking the city. People walked, heads down, scowling. They pulled their coats tighter, cursed the English summer, stomped on.
The river was huge. A vast cauldron of grey green bubbling underneath us, angry, untamable and ancient. Impassively sweeping away the dirt of the city. St Paul’s was shrouded in gloom. Only the top of the Gherkin emerged from the cloud, and the towers of Canary Wharf could hardly be seen. I wanted to stop the people passing me and say, wait – do you not see how beautiful this is? This is our city. How lucky we are?
These moments are precious. I spent years hating this place, feeling small and pathetic and missing Paris’ beauty, Lancashire’s love. Wondering why I’d ever come here in the first place and when it would start feeling less intimidating.
And slowly, it does. On bike rides, in parks, with friends, in pubs. On bridges looking out at the rain. It shrinks, you grow. It doesn’t accept you, why should it? But you are part of it, it is yours.
Sometimes, I love London.
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