Moving to (sort of) London

If you work in the creative arts, I firmly believe that there is no way you actually live in London. London is too expensive. Even investment bankers and lawyers and CEOs don’t live in London. Why would you pay £2000 pounds a month to live in a letterbox (that shares a bathroom with the man next door who collects and eats butterfly pollen because he thinks it makes him more sexually robust, a fact that he reminds you of on an uncomfortably frequent level). 

I moved out of Edinburgh (a glorified hamlet of rain, kilts, beer, and cobblestone) to the SOUTH of London and today is pretty fucking good. There is no wifi in my aparmtment flat, and I don’t even own a mirror. But I’m happy. Everything I own fits more or less into two suitcases and a bookbag, and having no furniture means I get a fresh chance to decorate. For the first time in a year I won’t be looking at a room full of mismatched ikea puzzles.  

 I also just turned in my dissertation on Friday. I printed, bound, and handed it off, and got a congratulatory cup of prosecco as a reward from the graduate school office. I spent all day cleaning my apartment, and then I got to go to Sketchy Beats, a monthly art session at Yellow Bench in Edinburgh; where participants listen to EDM and sketch a nude model while consuming copious amounts of wine and cheap cigarettes. Every one had Warhol glasses and a sneer of self-proclaimed superiority to capitalism, and I couldn’t have loved it more. I think I fell a little in love with the nude model. We freed the nipple. I wrote poetry. I introduced my friend Ben to the Selfie Stick. I thought about homesickness and churches and books burning. 

I’ve moved five times in four years, one of those times being across the USA, from Seattle to New York. Two of those moves have been to different countries. I am sitting in an apartment thinking that there is nothing I would like more than to settle down here and get plugged into a community and buy furniture that is reliable and long-lasting, and move into a place where I can hang art on the walls. 

But the truth is, home has never really been a reality for me and this time next year, I’ll probably be blogging about Zimbabwe or Cambodia. 

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About Angela

Editor, bookbinder, and writer.

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