Posted in Picture, Writing

Dearest London

Since I last posted there have been some pretty major developments in the mess that I call my life.  For a start I am single now, something that I know every 33-year-old female aspires to.  Saying that, in between the deep whistling noise coming from my cavernous wind-tunnel of a fruitless womb and the deafening tick of a suspiciously absent clock, I can just about make out the unmistakable sound of adventure.  It sounds like pint glasses clinking, traffic in still air, the quiet roar of a distant aeroplane, and fear – shit loads of sweaty, choking, all-encompassing fear.  Aberdeen has been good to me, I will miss it and everyone that I loved during my 14 years there, but it is time to move on and where better to start a new chapter than in the coolest knife-crime hotspot in Europe…..Landaann baby!!

Although I have not long arrived here, my sister has been living here for quite a few years now so, visiting her regularly, I have come to get to know the city a little bit.  Now, you all know that I am possibly the least judgemental human ever to have walked the Earth, less judgemental than Jesus even because I don’t have an issue with the gay or the Jew*, but even I have made some observations that I think need to be addressed.  I have put my thoughts into an open letter to the city because I like to pretend that things are people.

*Disclaimer: Before people get all up in my grill saying things like “Jesus loved the gays and he was Jewish!” – I don’t care.  I know nothing about religion, I just make stuff up.  If it’s not based on fact then I’m doing it right.  My blog.

Dear London,

  • What if I don’t want spinach or halloumi cheese in my food?  What then?  Do I just starve to death? I don’t even know what halloumi cheese is but I know I don’t fucking want it.
  • Untie that pastel v-neck sweater from around your shoulders and stop judging me. If I can’t stand upright long enough to successfully light a cigarette that I don’t even want to smoke outside one of your generic nightclubs, then that is my problem, not yours.  You will only ever dream of putting your dick in my mouth. Also, your shoes are really terrible.
  • Keep telling me how much you love my accent and exotic eye-shape. A bitch never gets tired of hearing that shit.
  • Stop giving me things to put in my handbag. I’m getting pretty fucking tired of having to clean it out every single day. Tube tickets, train tickets, bus tickets, enough receipts to start a Belfast bonfire, plastic bags, chewing gum wrappers, empty bottles of water, flyers that I said I didn’t want but you still gave me, another bit of paper asking me to come to church and be saved or burn in hell for all eternity, wooden Starbucks coffee stirrers (I don’t even like Starbucks…..or coffee for that matter),  bobby pins, loose change, £5 notes, business cards for taxi companies, free pens, pictures of starving African children. Please get a hold of yourself, I can’t take any more.

    The contents of my bag today after I left the house for two.  TWO. HOURS.
    The contents of my bag today after I left the house for two hours. TWO. HOURS.
  • Stop selling everything I’ve ever wanted within a mile of my house. I spent £700 in my first two days here. Okay, you don’t have to stop doing that if you don’t want to. I love things.
  • Consider slowly introducing uglier women into your gene pool. I feel it’s only fair that the population of London is a true representation of the population of the rest of the country. We can’t all wear 6 inch Louboutins and crop tops on a bare Tuesday afternoon you know, if I want to go to the bank looking like a hobo then that is my prerogative.
  • Please continue to serve Timothy Taylor Landlord in the pub next door. It’s the only thing keeping me alive here, I’m sure of it. Well, it’s definitely not the spinach anyway.

    Timothy Taylor: The best thing to come out of Yorkshire since Sean Bean.
    Timothy Taylor: The best thing to come out of Yorkshire since Sean Bean.
  • Stop presenting me with an array of your most handsome men and then making them all Italian. It’s disappointing.
  • Enough with the sirens. If all these people you are saving have to die so I can read a book about Medieval England in peace then so be it.
  • Stop jogging on a Sunday morning, you make me sick. Also, there is such a thing as too many yoga studios.
  • I am more than happy for you to continue to host what seems like a conveyor-belt of gigs by my heroes.
  • Oh, and keep looking like this. You looked nice today.

    I Love Putney :)
    Putney from our window this afternoon.  I Love Putney 🙂

Kindest Regards,

Your newest parasite, Jillian xxx

Advertisements