A Wet London Welcome

The man next to me on the plane really should have bought two seats. That would have been fair. Or at least the airline could have offered me a half price fare, as this is about the proportion of my seat that was left when my horizontally challenged neighbour breathed out.

Why does this always happen to me on the way back from holiday? There’s no gentle easing back into the scrum of everyday London life. I get to the airport and BAM! – it all goes horribly wrong.

Over the course of the next seven hours, a baby screamed for a very long time, some giant American man-child sang Justin Timberlake (badly and repeatedly), the man next to me fell asleep dropping his cheeseburger on my arm, and the air hostess who picked it up referred to him as my ‘husband’. It officially could not get any worse.

Touching down at Heathrow, it was, of course, raining. My case took ages to appear on the baggage carousel. There were about 100 people waiting to get on the tube, and roughly 98 of them trod on my flip-flopped foot. After ascending into the rabble at King’s Cross and waiting forever, I got on a bus damp, cold, grumpy and determined to move to Australia at the earliest opportunity. I hated London.

But then, as the bus chugged its way through the weekend traffic, something happened. I saw a group of girls shoehorned into the corner of a coffee shop laughing hysterically. The Big Issue man on the corner was throwing copies of the Metro at a policeman. There was an Abba tribute band outside Angel, which a group of businessmen were pretending to look disapprovingly at, trying to stop their feet tapping. Joy clothing store had a sale on. A woman on the bus opened a thermos flask and took a glug of tea. Slowly but unmistakably, my bad mood began to evaporate with the raindrops on my inappropriate footwear. I realised that actually, despite the lack of beaches, burritos and bikinis, it was good to be back.

London can be a struggle sometimes – it’s always raining and the one tube line you want will inevitably be closed. It’s full of people in a hurry who tread on your feet. But it’s also full of little quirks, fascinating people, endless entertainment and that unmistakable whiff of home. Just remember to pack your umbrella.

Image by Paul McGhie