I think moving to London really does change a person, no matter how much you don’t want to be changed. In fact, moving anywhere will change a person. I am now at the risk of sounding like a cringey bastard within the first two lines of this blog post so I won’t elaborate further but I assure you that this cringefest of an opening is necessary for the rest of the article to flow like one of Shakespeare’s sonnets (which, of course, they all do).
So anyway, I’ve written before about moving to London and the general musings I have about the place and the people and the mother fucking underground, and now it’s time to talk about myself (shock). I don’t think I’ve done this much talking about myself since I joined Girl Guides and they asked me to tell them three things that defined me, but so is the way of the blogging world that I must be selfish and act like everyone gives a shit about my experiences of shit.
So here’s a list of shit I do now that I didn’t do before moving to London:
- Drink gin and tonic. I feel like it’s pretty much a rule that if you live in London you have to like gin and tonic or you will be ostracised by society and doomed to live a half-life. Thankfully I do really like gin but it’s definitely not something I would’ve drunk back when I lived in God’s own country of Yorkshire, where the triple voddies flowed free and fast and even the white wine spritzers were more tempting than a gin and slim.
- Complain about fucking everything. This is actually only half true as I have always had a penchant for complaining about everything – as a few more avid readers of my blog may have noticed – but since making the move daaan saaaf I have found that everything pisses me off, and my ability to tolerate the general public has taken a dramatic turn for the worse. And I don’t just complain about people. I complain about having to wait longer than three minutes for the train, having to drink full fat tonic when there’s no slimline available (I’m on a diet don’t ya know) and anything else that catches my eye.
- Tell everyone I live in London. I used to dub people who shouted about living in London as London wankers, although now I live there myself and blog regularly about it I find I am most definitely now a London Wanker with a capital W. In my defense it’s pretty unavoidable that people will ask you where you live and what you do, it’s just the curse of the capital that you sound like a prick when you answer. Working in Shoreditch doesn’t help either, ‘cause everyone’s reply when they find out is “oh, how cool” which translates roughly to “you are a wannabe hipster and I hate you”.
- Spend extortionate amounts on fucking everything. Before moving to London I seriously used to grumble at paying more than two barries for a vodka and coke, whereas now any beverage under a fiver is considered a bargain and I somehow manage not to throw up when paying over 10 quid for a fuckin’ cocktail. The vast upside to this is going home always feels like a really cheap night out (or at least it should, but I tend to drink more to make up for the less expenditure which probably costs me more in dignity than it’s worth).
- Use completely random words. Most of the language that I’ve picked up down here has begun as a piss-take and gradually crept into my everyday conversation. For example the other day at Boots the cashier asked for my name (she definitely fancied me) and after telling her I announced under my breath that it was a “fuckin’ lit name”. Yeah I used lit in a real life conversation and I’m not a rapper (although I should be). I’ve also been known to say words like “bait”, “link up” and there was even a rumour that I used the word “peng” in conversation although I deny it profusely. That’s just the lit life.