On returning to London…

Everytime I have a little time away from the city - either the four years I spent at a much smaller city for uni, or the little trips out of town, like this past week to Norfolk with my girlfriend - coming back feels like the hugest breath of fresh air. 

Metaphorically, of course. The air here fucking sucks.

We get off the train and all of a sudden people are dressed interesting again. Tattoos and piercings are worn proudly rather than hidden. Queer people…exist? I never hide who I am when I go to these places out of the city, but the staring and honking and whispers can get a little tiring. 

But I’m back! After exams are over I’m intending on making my way around the lesbian bars, getting sweaty and dancing on people in the trans/gay clubs, pride month events, dyke march 2025…just get a bit messy

I feel so suffocated in those wide open green spaces full of rigid conformity, and so free in the densest parts of the city. I’m sat on the tube writing this post and it’s so nice to just look around and see people in all manner of colours, patterns. Outfits ranging from just-about-legal slutty to full modesty. 

The line I need to use is partially closed, and yet the delay doesn’t really bother me, because I’m here. (It does. I’m feeling really travel sick today. Sigh.)

I’m sure most people feel this way about their home cities. If you’ve ever wondered if the hype around London is real - it is, come visit