Fuck off London you make everything harder than it needs to be. The tube I want to take has engineering works, the weather has turned from sunny to sleet and there are protests in Trafalgar square. Even the thought of going for a coffee with a friend is exhausting me right now, an act that should be full of joy and warmth turned into an exhausting series of maneuvers by you oh London.
Fuck off London you give me such cool things to see but then crowd them with people. The amazing new restaurant that doesn’t take reservations so you stand outside in the noise and the wind for an hour and a half. The trip to the market for lunch and a walk that turns me into a ball of rage with people pushing and shoving for pulled duck on a soggy waffle. The new exhibition that everyone is Instagramming but in reality is three times the amount of people I am happy being surrounded with; how can I enjoy the art if all I can see is people taking selfies? You give wondrous opportunities but the gilt is worn off by the hordes of people you attract oh London.
Fuck off London you make me spend inadvisably. You convince me that by living in your exhausting limits I have to spend to make the most of it, to make living in the crazy worth it. I spend my money on convenience food I could have made at home, the latest fashion created by slaves that I will wear once, experiences that were all hype and disappointment. You convince me that spending will make me happy, and what is worse is that a lot of the time it does. We are not going to mention that mechanical money box I purchased where the cat grabs the coin oh London.
Fuck off London you never call when you say you will. I have never met a city with such proud levels of bureaucracy and inefficiency. You tell me to accept the boiler man that is running late and ends up in your flat at 2am (sadly not the start to a porno). My rage grew when I waited a month for a debit card with no other way to spend money. But the ultimate slight, the one that tipped me over the edge? You try applying for a visa and remain sane oh London.
Fuck off London you make me feel crazy. You being you makes people feel inherently anxious and depressed. There is no let up from the conveyor belt through your veins, we rush, we compete and we perpetually feel like we are failing. To get to work we commute crushed by humanity, in a tube targeted by terrorists all while trying not to get sexually assaulted – and that is before we have even started our day. Take a normal man and leave him unsupported in London and within a month, maybe two, he will be googling signs of anxiety and depression oh London.
Fuck off London you make me lose important people. Because you are uncompromising, expensive and exhausting the people I love, the people who are my family, leave at a run. You force people out with high rents and lack of sunshine, they fly away to find a new version of happiness leaving me with the pigeons. Why can’t you be nice? Why can you just let people breath for a while? If you did, you might get them to stay oh London.
Fuck off London you have an ego bigger than France. And what is worse you somehow pass this ego on to anyone living in you. “Well in London we…” becomes the cringe worthy opening line to any conversation with friends back home. Yes you are cool, but so are many others oh London.
Fuck off London you just can’t let me go. For all my anger, for all my fucks I just can’t quit you. You give me friendship, creativity, inspiration. You make me feel a part of something bigger, like anything I do is possible. In all your mad hustle you allow me to be the person that I choose, and change my mind on a penny if I don’t like it any more. Oh London, shall we kiss and make up?