Not lost in Brixton
I have lived in London since October. Back home, if I arranged to meet someone at a place I’d never been before this would always involve approximately five minutes of discursive dialogue between me and that someone until we were both satisfied that I knew exactly where I was going.
It’s not like that in London. I would have given up counting the number of times I have set out of my front door with nothing more than a scrap of paper with a postcode or a street name to guide me to my destination, if I had ever started. Despite having an iPhone equipped with Google Maps and the divine London Bus app, I still depend hugely on my mini A-Z that is always in my handbag. Some people laugh, others eye my pocket atlas enviously as they wrestle with a flapping internet printout. What is certain is that nobody finds their way around this city exactly the same way I do, but we all get where we’re going.
This is pretty much the spirit in which I write this blog. Hopefully we’ll all get where we’re going (with happy eyes and perfect HBA1Cs) and when we do we can have a nice chat about the missed turnings and delayed trains, but more importantly, about our sneaky short-cuts and the fact that we all made it.
