twenty months a londoner

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Prior to moving, I had hoped to celebrate every six months that I had survived life in this hectic city. Turns out that was somewhat overly ambitious, apparently.

When I first arrived, all I remember hearing from both born and bred Londoners and from longer standing expat buddies, was the constant and incessant use of the word ‘busy’. It used to baffle me that you needed to book a date with a friend weeks out just to catch up, how you could go for weeks on end and not see your friend who lives one tube stop away. We have the same contracted hours in London as we do at home, so how is everyone so busy all the time? I used to feel ashamed if I was – shock horror – free when someone asked to sporadically catch up one evening after work. Ahhhh, those were the days. Continue reading