I thought of London the way I thought of my hometown, Ipswich – as the town everything happened in. We had a small cinema which had old-style balconys; I figured that’s where the Queen – and the two old geezers from The Muppets – sat when they came to the pictures. When I would watch shows like _Open All Hours_, I assumed it was shot somewhere in London (it wasn’t; it was shot in Doncaster, way oop north).

I used to read a British BMX magazine, and British kid comics (Buster, Whizzer & Chips) just to get a sense of British life. When the first Gulf War broke out, I was glued to the TV not for the coverage, but because one of the channels in Australia would simply rebroadcast the BBC news every day for cheap coverage, and it always offered a glimpse of London life: delayed tubes, bus problems, and the like.

I first came here early 2000 for a brief work trip. I remember catching the tube from Heathrow, looking out over far-west London (then West London proper – Acton, etc) being a little disappointed but also excited when the first pale-faced, gaunt working class lad got on the train and slouched on a seat. _Just like they look on the telly!_

London was clean, dirty, old, new, classic, stylish, styleless, and full of people who didn’t seem to realise that they lived in LONDON.

My work colleague I spent the most time with here at first was Scottish, and somewhat dismissive of the city; she liked taking her scooter out for little jaunts through the small city streets, but I don’t think she ever enjoyed the London-ness of it. I loved it. I walked along the Thames, seeing Barnes across the water, from Chiswick to Hammersmith Bridge and thinking I could do that everyday.

By the time I went home two weeks later, I was really hoping I’d get a work permit to return properly. That didn’t pan out.

Time rolls on. Two years later, I had met and fallen in love with, and was now marrying, a Londoner. She was equally dismissive and head-over-heels with London. She introduced me to the shitty, dirty, crime-ridden aspects of living in London; and to the exciting, bouncy, anarchically joyful side.

That was about seven and a half years ago. I get jaded about London as well, now. I can walk past Big Ben in his clock tower without much of a glance other than to see the time. I look at the river as simply part of the view; the city skyline as something that surrounds the Gherkin. I hate the buses, the tube, the crowds, Oxford Street on a Saturday afternoon. But I am also equally defensive of it. There are aspects of living here that you miss when you’re just visiting, unless you’ve had the same bloke give you three different sob stories in hope for some change on three successive nights; of sitting on the upper deck of a night bus while an argument rages beneath you, and the driver switches everything off and tells us to change buses, and its 4am and we just want to go home.

It’s like any city; skin deep isn’t deep enough. Sometimes it’s too deep.

But, in the end, London is my home, for better or worse.

There were jokes, there were limericks, there were baudy invitations to call certain people for a good time (or, simply, to have their dick sucked). This was eye-opening, to be sure. We spent a good hour or two roaming back and forth, with the sounds of traffic crossing the bridge over our heads, and the gentle lapping of the dirty river water beneath us.

We went there, just us kids, once again after that but it didn’t have quite the same magic. It was daylight for one thing, and we were also spotted by someone if I recall – another group of kids, I think – so some of the excitement was taken away; it wasn’t secret anymore.

Soon after, the catwalks were closed off, and we couldn’t get back up there anymore. I like to think the graffiti is still there, 25-odd years later.

Neither of us has a great deal of money, so we’ll be doing as much free or cheap things as possible; hoping we can spend time walking around the city checking out the sites that even after over 7 years living here I’ve not paid much attention to.

It’s weird that all my life I dreamt of coming to England, and once I made it here I quickly grew weary of the place. That’s what comes with living in the inner suburbs of a big city, I guess – you get beaten down. I’m trying to get out of that now, though; I realise time is always limited, and I need to make the effort to put some quality into my life.

Anyway, until my brother turns up we need to spend time sorting out the flat so he has somewhere to sleep, and I also need to spend time training and getting my weight down. For the last few weeks I’ve been following a strength-building program – StrongLifts 5×5, which is a basic gradual-progression compound lifts program – and it’s been really good. I’m pleased with my progress so far, and where it’s heading.

Work has been interesting in a dull way (or dull in an interesting way). We’re not rocking the Casbah with the projects we’re doing, but at least they’re contributing somewhat to a good cause (I work for a cancer charity). Better than making for-profit sites for shitty, shallow companies and people I guess.