We're heading North

Ahhhh bliss!


A man famously once said, if you're tired of London, you're tired of life.

Well, that man (I believe it was Dr Samuel Johnson in 1777) clearly never had the joy of negotiating the District Line at rush hour. Or attempted to buy a property with more than one room, for less than the cost of an arm, leg and vital organ. And he probably never had to learn to walk at a minimum speed of 50mph, a vital requirement for getting around the capital.
Which is why, for all those reasons and several more besides, after 13 years in the capital, Hubby and I are moving north to Manchester.

Being a Yorkshire man, the struggle to find decent beer and a good chippy has gradually worn my hubby down. And we both find ourselves feeling increasingly claustrophobic down here. There seems to be twice as many people down here than when we first arrived, and everywhere we look, swarms of little men in hardhats are frantically building high rise buildings in front of other high rise buildings or wedging a block of flats, a Starbucks and a Gourmet Burger into a space that’s really only big enough for a carton of milk.

As a result, we find ourselves yearning for open spaces, greenery and a home that's got a garden and an 'upstairs’, rather than just being a quarter of a modified semi detached house, with a patch of grass masquerading as a garden that has a line down the middle to signify 'your half'.

I think I realised it was time to exit London when I got more excited about the idea buying pegs and a washing line than I did about a night out in the West End. You see, the outdoor space that came with our flat is actually only big enough for a garden bench (as long as you don't want to stretch your legs out) and two small pot plants. We have to traipse out there in single file cos it’s so narrow. So obviously there's no space to swing your laundry. Currently our washing line is a big clothes horse which either obscures the view of the TV or blocks a doorway. We sort of kick it around the flat with us as we traverse from room to room.

But that’s London living for you. Nothing is ‘normal’. And that’s absolutely fine if you were born and bred down here and know no different. Or if you’re single, in your twenties, work is your life, you rent a room in a shared house with people you don’t like much and you’re happy to stay out til all hours every night disposing of your disposable income. At that point in your life, the last thing you care about is where to hang your washing. Heck, if you haven't got any clean pants, just nip to Primark and buy some.

But there’s a certain age where things start to change. Around the 30 mark, your mates start getting married and popping out babies. It's all about mortgages rather than a room in a shared house near the tube. Those impromptu, care free, I'd-rather-sit-in-the-pub-than-go-back-to-my-shared-shithole binge drinks after work become a dim and distant memory.

And if I do want to catch up with any of my hardcore, childless and loving-London type friends, I have to book a slot three months in advance. It's harder than trying to book a cheap train ticket. Even then they usually cancel at the last minute due to 'other commitments'. As I say, it’s not normal.

I could go on. Don't get me started on the perpetual queue around the M25 to get in and out of London, no matter what time of day or night it is. Rudeness. Boris Johnson. Boris Johnson's bikes. An ever-growing staffie population. Drivers trying to run me over while I'm on my bike. People running for tubes. People running off tubes. People fighting for seats on tubes. And above all, the way simple tasks take an unfeasibly long time. If I want to pop to the shops at the weekend, I can't just hop in the car, go come back and still have the majority of the day to play with - for some reason you have to negotiate at least three separate forms of transport, take a packed lunch and a waterproof, and make sure you are wearing stout walking shoes that will cope with the strain of you walking bloody miles cos a tube line is inexplicably closed. It is exhausting.

Don't get me wrong. I love London. I love the history, the galleries, the endless choice of restaurants and eateries, the creativity, the sheer volume of amazing things to see and do. I've had a blast during my time here. I've met amazing people, had wonderful adventures, enjoyed a career that's allowed me to do what I love doing most (and won a few awards along the way), met my husband and I've even been lucky enough to take that first step onto the property ladder.

I will leave with some incredible memories and I have already shed a few tears. It is the end of a huge chapter for me.

But now it's time to hang my washing outside.

No thanks.