London is where girls are called Bella, and boys are called Valentine.
I know this because they call out names as they serve strong, good coffees in Blank Street Coffeeshop in Camden. This morning, I felt embarrassed at my boring Mychael tag. My unusual spelling does not translate verbally. So I am, unfortunately, not in the Cool Coffeeshop Name Gang. In Blank Street Coffeeshop in Camden.
(If only they wrote names on cups. Instead of just shouting names out. At least then I could have strutted past Bella and Valentine, one eyebrow raised, cup held high, evidencing how cool I am to spell my name a bit funny).
London is where find out about myself. I find out about myself anywhere that’s away from home, really. Today – it’s London.
In London I eat Blank Street Coffeeshop almond croissants, not Greggs sausage rolls. I talk to people that I think are talking to me, but are in fact talking to their phones via earphones. Or something. And it’s London where I notice the dark of the homeless and the light of the stylish, side-by-side.
I get both excited and scared in London. I get excited by the worlds I’m missing, and frightened by the worlds I’m missing. At 50odd, it’s too late for me to do some of the more exciting things.
It’s a right faff getting to London from Northumberland. But I’m glad to be here. Let’s see what happens.