ELOISE ROBERTSON IMAGEANDWORD

a few words...

The colourful cover has the same pallet as an underground tube map and from the outside looks like another piece of London memo-rabilia. But just from reading the first few pages I realise that this book was written for people like me, normal Londoners who un-derstand what the author means as he recalls the crowded tubes, confusing maps and the people who can stand and read a Metro on a moving train without falling. I am suddenly realising how lucky I am to be one of those people.

As a child I had always told my mother I would perform on a West End stage (check) I said I would go to drama school (check) I told her I would visit New York (check!) and I also said I would move to London....check (twice). So why don’t I want to go back, where has my love gone for this wonderful city. As I read on I found a quote from Samu-el Johnson who wrote

“When a man is bored of London he is bored of life; for there is in London all that life can afford.”This hit me like a netball (dreaded childhood memory) to the head; hard, fast and carrying the honest truth that I was doing something very, very wrong. I seem to have forgotten how far I have come, how I had so far ticked off my childhood list (with a few minor boul-ders along the way) and I had failed to make anymore. So as I try to escape the ‘New Year New Me’ Bridget Jones cliche, I seem to have had a pretty epic lightbulb moment.Here’s to 2012, a year of change, improve-ment, development and growth. And since I’ve recently been promoted I’m going to dive in with mission number one- buy myself a gold Michael Kors watch.

So here we are, Christmas is over. And while our houses remain laced with tinsel and enough chocolate selection boxes to feed a small army, the merriment is begging to slow down. New Years Eve however, is fast approuching; the night we aim to consume our body weight in alcohol and promise, in our fairly hazy states, to ‘better ourselves’ as another year rolls around.

But for now I have packed a heavy suitcase fullof presents from my very generous loved ones and I’m heading home back home. Although its not home really, it’s London not Chichester, and as my Mum always says “Home is where your Mother is”. This is not to be taken to literally of course; many of us do aim to flock the nest before we grow old (or the house fills with cats) so I suppose we will all eventually find our metaphorical home. And I suppose that, as it stands, London is it. I am currently residing in a cosy, fully functioning house in Strat-ford, an eclectic little chunk of East London which despite looking like a concrete dump-ing ground will soon play host to the London 2012 Olympic Games. I see this as a positive thing and I have already seen a huge change in the place in just a few months. But I’m not here to document the monumental changes happening in Stratford; Boris already seems to have a firm grasp on that one. But as deca-dent as the East End is I must say it was a bit of a struggle to leave Chichester after such an amazing weekend. Despite my lovely housemates and having my boyfriend nearby, London feels like an incredibly lonely place sometimes. I’m sure even the chicest of Lon-don socialites feels outnumbered amidst its vast expanse of concrete and strangers. So as I sit on a packed train heading Victoria bound I have opened up a book my Mother has given me “The Days and Nights of Londoners As Told by Those Who Love it, Hate it, Live it, Left it and Long for it” by Craig Taylor.

It is a big thing to love somebody, for all their ins and outs,

To love their taste in music, and the way they do their hair.

For the way they sleep like they are catching flies, or the silly

socks they wear, To love the little things they say, and miss them when they’re not

there,To love somebody for all they are and all they want to be, well that

to me, if I may say, Is a very fine thing indeed.