At the moment, what I don't love about it is the scarcity of parks, my cat, family, and friends. And while I like that it's small, I feel like there's not much more to it than what I've already seen.
And I feel like this for possibly one reason; I've just been to London. London. Londinium. No, that's just shit.
You know how you just know you'd love a place without being there? I always thought my city was Melbourne. Terribly strange, but utterly true: I have never been to Melbourne. But I know from seeing pictures, and had it confirmed by friends who have been there that it is my town. Most of our television is produced there (employment), the weather seems nice (more comfortable for a ranga like myself), the fashion is amazing (wardrobe), there's a great music scene (possible romance), and many of my best friends want to move there (social life).
All thoughts of Melbourne instantly vanished the moment I got to London. The weather was nice (got colder than Manchester one day. Eeep), and there were parks and trees everywhere. The city is huge, so you basically have to catch a train to a lot of places, but the London underground is so efficient that I barely waited more than five mintues before a train arrived.
The hostel we stayed at was much nicer than I thought it would be, though not as nice as my student accommodation (which is how it should be!), and was really close to London Bridge. The Tate Modern and the Thames and all of these ridiculous lovely places were but a walk away. So were a lot of English pubs filled no doubt with Australian bartenders. I've really fallen in love with living in the city. I've always been jealous of friends who lived in Newcastle, because everything was in walking distance and if not, buses were everywhere and cabs would be cheap. Now I get to be that person, living in the city and walking everywhere. It's wonderful. I love it in Manchester, but I really love it in London. I felt comfortable in it straight away.
Now I know I'm saying this on the strength of having been there for about two days, but I didn't want to leave. I want to go back as soon as possible. There's something so surreal about being in another country. It's ridiculous how easy it is to adapt to the city. And how weird it is seeing these iconic places and thinking, oh, that's nice. It's ever so close to the Tube. London, naturally, had quite a few iconic sites; the London and Tower bridges, Big Ben, Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament, Buckingham Palace, the London Eye, The Tate Modern, the Tate Britain, King's Cross Station, the Thames, and the list goes ever on. While I was impressed by them, I just felt that it was perfectly natural for me to walk past them on a casual stroll.
I'm beginning to realise that I simply can't be the stereotypical tourist. I tried it on Friday at Abbey Road and felt like a twat crossing the crossing. I was exhilarated that I was at the place, but at the same time it was simply a street in London that I was walking down. It looked so, so normal. Well, aside from the loads of people taking photos of themselves crossing the street. Truth be told, after doing this pilgrimmage, I'm worried about my trip to Salford Lads Club.
Saturday was the day to be touristy. We got on the Original Sightseeing Bus Tour and it was nice, but I really wanted to get off and look around. We got off at Buckingham Palace and that was a surreal experience. Part of me was screaming 'Dude! You are standing outside the Queen's House!!!' and the other was, 'oh, yeah, that's Buckingham Palace. But far away from the Gherkin Building.' But it was really lovely, having said that. I had my heart set on doing a music walking tour that started in Trafalgar Square but because of time and problems with the bus, it was not meant to be. I have still not seen the rooftop the Beatles played on for the last time, or the place where Lou Reed recorded Transformer. Next time. Harrods was an interesting experience. I just did not want to shop in there! We went to the arcade, which is where they sell ridiculously overpriced Harrods items. Of course I bought 'London' gifts there for everyone. And this amazingly beautiful mug/teacup that I'm certain is the Dorian Gray of mugs and teacups everywhere. Should be, it cost me 12 quid (that's 24 Australian clams for you lot playing at home).
The lifts in Harrods were the nicest rooms I've ever been in. There were mini chandeliers in there, for fuck's sake. And there was a section for pets. Not only could you buy animals, you could also buy them everything they might possibly need. There was beer for dogs. There was furniture for dogs. There were not only clothes for dogs, but dressing rooms so you could see what little Bruiser or Baxter would look like in the miniature Rugby jersey. It was insane. But cool. We saw a woman walk into the lift with a small dog, no doubt headed for the pet section. Halloween is coming up after all, and little Chloe needs a ballet tutu. She can't go without a costume! You could bring a dog into the store but not drinks.
Just inside the main entrance were two of the oddest statues I've ever seen. One was a lifelike version of Harrods owner and lovable wackjob Mohammed Al-Fayed. The other was a statue between the escalators of Diana and Dodi Al-Fayed joined hands and dancing around a bird. The bottom of this monument had the words 'Innocent Victims' on it. Ok.
That was about the most obviously tourist behaviour we exhibited for the rest of the day. That's not to say we didn't see some interesting things. While we were lost in Knightsbridge we stumbled upon an Anti-Fur protest. Their target was the Versace store, which we all knew immediately. All of us concluded that it would do no good. Donatella would continue to smoke her cigarettes, tan herself, drink expensive champagne and direct her company to make more fur.
We were unable to find the sightseeing bus the rest of the day, which made us particularly angry because it was 25 pounds. We got more value out of our Tube tickets, because of trackwork. We had to go on three times as many trains to get anywhere. One of them resulted in two great finds: a shop called It's Only Rock and Roll (which Amy had pointed out to me and I'd forgotten to take the address of with me), and another Beatles shop with amazing memorabilia outside and great stuff inside (a John Lennon in New York doll among them). I bought my Bowie t-shirt from the former, and some Mods badges, of course.
The other walking tour we all had our heart set on was the Jack the Ripper tour (we wanted to do it at night, but the day one was free. If only we'd known). We didn't make that either, thanks to the Tube and the bus. Which made everyone unhappy. After everyone getting on my nerves for most of the day, I was finally happy. But the others weren't. Something wonderful would happen, though. This is further proof that I am not your typical tourist, although I try to be.
The Gherkin Building. It is 30 St Mary Axe in the financial district. It was built on the site of the Baltic Exchange building after damage from an IRA bomb in 1992 was deemed too severe for a restoration. None of this matters to me. What matters is that I see it in shows set or filmed in London, the most recent being the Simon Pegg film Run, Fatboy, Run (Hank Azaria's character works there). Ever since then, I've been fascinated by this egg-shaped building (I think it looks more like a huge glass Faberge egg than a gherkin, but who am I to argue?). From the moment we arrived in London, I could see it. Looming large over the landscape, close yet so far away. You could see it from nearly everywhere we went. Walking home from our disastrous attempt to be typical tourists, I realised it was so close I could almost taste it. Walking toward it felt like walking toward a mirage. I could feel my friends getting pissed off with my insistence on taking a photo outside it, and I was in turn getting pissed off with them for being such bastards. Even when I was at my crankiest with them I was still happy to be in London and happy to go wherever we were headed.
Every time I thought we were close, I lost sight of it. We were about to give up when I rounded a corner and my friend saw someone taking a photo. This was it. What else would they be taking a photo of in this decidedly business-oriented section of the city? My hopes and dreams were confirmed; there it was; my Gherkin building. I was so excited! It wasn't just a stupid building by then. It was a symbol that we had found something today. Not all of our hopes for the day had been ruined by public transport. It also allowed us to walk home via the London Bridge, where I was accosted by a French couple wanting me to take the photo I had wanted my friends and I to have taken. But anyway. It was amazing to realise how close all these amazing features of the city were, and yet how normal it seemed to me that they should be here.
My plans instantly changed when I got to London. The plan is now to work for money to save up for a year, but only part time in order to do work experience that will hopefully get me a job in production in London. Oh, and I'm taking my cat with me.
