Saturday, 3 January 2015

... I'm home.

A few years ago, in a discussion with Peter, I told him that I really hate London.
I wasn't joking either. London is too busy, too fast, too overwhelming for me. There's so much that it's too much.

That's all still the case.

The worst thing about London is the abundance of tourists. The way they stop in the middle of the station without any forewarning and the way they feel it is acceptable to walk into you. Just no.

Having returned from London today, you'd have thought I'd be quite relieved. I live in an average sized town and, although there are a lot of idiots around here, generally people aren't too annoying as long as you don't get in their way.

So why did I spend a majority of my journey home in tears on the train?

I must have looked like a seriously crazy woman, with smudged make-up and tears dripping down my face. On the plus side, at least no one bothered me or sat next to me...

I didn't want to leave Peter. That's why. And I didn't want to have to come back to normality. I didn't want to have to sink back in to my very mundane and very average lifestyle which predominantly consists of school and school work, which is currently dominating my life.

London (and Peter) was a beautiful escape for me for a while.

What a perfect week. 


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