# A Reluctant Londoner

### Much has been made of the distaste I possess towards my native city - yet here I am, nearly six months into my second stint in the capital.

It’s not that I dislike London… I just reckon there is more to life in the 21st century than living in overpriced, overhyped conurbations such as the Big Smoke.

I suppose I am an economic migrant of sorts, like the hordes before me who sought the opportunities the city is still meant to herald. Until last week, I was living on Highgate Hill, just up from the very spot where Dick Whittington was called back to the City of London.

My original urban residence.

Richard Whittington was a real bloke, not just a pantomime figure, born to Gloucestershire gentry in the Forest of Dean around 1354. A victim of primogeniture, legend goes that he got fed up of working in an exploitative scullery in a city where the streets were not paved with gold (I can confirm they’re still not…!). Headed home to the West Country - see where this is going?! - he turned back to the City around four miles beyond its limits when he heard Bow Bells ring with the message ‘Turn again Whittington, Lord Mayor of London’ before fate took care of the rest.

Having climbed that hill every day for five months, I understand why Whittington did not fancy it. It also goes without saying Sadiq Khan’s job is safe for now, but there was something inevitable about my return to London after fourteen years. But I do have my parents to thank for the opportunity to do the course I have just finished as well as the generous and understanding pairing of Holly and Oliver, whose spare room I was allowed to make my own for its duration. All much appreciated!

Having just finished the National Council for the Training of Journalists’ fast-track course and moved into a flat in Harlesden, I am actively searching out the next step, my days consisting of job applications in the morning and writing in the afternoons. Journalistic opportunities do not seem to make themselves all that available in small-town Somerset, much to my chagrin, so it seems that I will be in London in the meantime.

> _Getting off the bus and descending into the heart of the Square Mile, Monday through Friday, prompted a culture shock at times, one that felt perturbing and inspiring in equal measure._

I had all that I needed in Frome, except for the right job. At 29, I have been fortunate enough to travel more than my fair share, whether that be for personal fulfilment or for work. Was it the stints abroad and a certain restlessness then that granted me the opportunity to see that London is not all it is cracked up to be? Or was it a conceited sense of the contrary in me that led to avoiding the city that everyone seems so lured in by? A soupçon of truth behind both arguments perhaps.

Sunrise on Highgate Hill up from where Dick Whittington turned back to the City.

It would be remiss were I to say that I had not enjoyed it here - the ease of catching up with different sets of friends after a long time, making new ones and seeing the sights. It is not an easy place to live without income, but I cannot deny that it is an engrossing place to inhabit. Getting off the bus and descending into the heart of the Square Mile, Monday through Friday, prompted a culture shock at times, one that felt perturbing and inspiring in equal measure.

Termite-like, one hurries from A to B and back to A in the hope of producing something profitable and meaningful (often in that order…). Cogs with varying degrees of influence and effect in the faltering machine that is London. Within the hustle, though, there is an unmistakeable sense of solidarity in the day-to-day meanderings and a notion of democracy among those Londoners doing London things.

For a while now at least, I can take a backward seat while I attempt to pinpoint and stake my claim as to where it is I will fit into the vast contraption that forms the _urbs_ of Londinium. I might even endeavour to flesh out some of these pretentious sentiments while I am about it…

* * *

_A year on from travelling in India, I find myself (nearly!) ‘qualified’ as a journalist with the next step(s) still unclear. The intention behind starting on Substack is to get me publishing pieces consistently and explore my interests through writing._

_So come along for the ride and please subscribe (or gift me a coffee!) as I document my job-seeking with a seasoning of sport and features._