Reflections on leaving London

Thursday, 4 December

Now that I am safely aboard my 8 am flight to Doha from LHR, my trip is starting to feel a little more real. And with just enough elbow room to operate my keyboard, I thought now would be the perfect time to reflect on my time in London which I am leaving behind (at least for a while!)

I’ve spent just under 9 years in London. It was always part of my plan. My parents met in London and loved their time living in shared houses from Maida Vale to Finchley and Ealing. Whenever they have the opportunity to visit my sisters and me in the capital they’re keen to take a trip down memory lane and revisit the stomping grounds of their youth.

I think you could quite easily make a case for London being the best city in the world. Occasionally I would make the most of this by visiting the museums, restaurants and walking among the 2,000+ years of history layered into its streets.

Yet most evenings were spent meeting friends in an East London pub that existed somewhere at the intersection of trendy-looking people, dark mahogany interiors, and cheap-ish Guinness. This was normally followed by jumping on a lime bike a little inebriated (sorry mum) back to my flat where I’d be praying that I got home before my phone died, or that I’d swerve out of the way of a three-legged fox that had just scampered across the road. Or both. This was all part of the charm of course.

A pint of dark stout beer with foam on top, placed on a wooden surface beside a framed photo of a group of people celebrating on a city street, holding an England flag. The background shows a window with colorful stained glass and greenery outside.

However, in recent years, I started to find that the more time I spent in London the more I felt myself turning to my flat as a place of refuge, burrowing away from the chaos and noise. And other than bumping into my neighbours in the lift, I never felt a real sense of community. I guess this partly explains the general exodus from London at the 30+ age mark - and that’s before we even get to how expensive it is.

My Hackney flat was in a new-build (pictured), but even the deep-insulated walls couldn’t keep out the sirens and guffawing uni students from across the road. And in the last year or so I found myself buying things to ‘keep London out’: black-out-blinds, noise-cancelling ear buds, a white noise machine and so on.

Perhaps this is a slightly privileged complaint as many people live in London all their lives but having grown up in fairly suburban areas of Nottingham and Manchester for most of my life, I felt myself yearning for a bit more quiet.

The word ‘London’ hints at another challenge too, ‘lon-eliness’. (Granted that was a little clumsy but the point stands) In a city of eight million people, where you often feel you’re living on top of each other, it can be surprisingly isolating. The city is so tight you feel like you know the people in the apartment building right across the street - but you don’t really.

A modern, red-brick multi-story apartment building with multiple balconies and railings, situated on a city street with cars and pedestrians.

Every day I would steal small glances into the kitchens and bedrooms, other people’s lives. TVs illuminate living room walls. Someone leaning on the kitchen counter waiting for the kettle to boil. Then all of a sudden the people you’ve been seeing every day are not there anymore. New people have moved in. There was something intensely lonely about that for me.

So, as I begin my journey to Australia, I am going to do my best to appreciate the new noises of Melbourne, a new city; meet some fun people and make a conscious effort not to look into people’s kitchens as much.