Dear London,
You pursued me from afar from the moment I first opened my eyes. When we finally came together I felt particularly special to you. I felt like I was someone who really got you, your sensibilities, sentiments, ideas. But then I also always gave you space for your secrets, your intrigue. That was what had attracted me to you in the first place. I would always be the first to champion you, both those new, and to those jaded. No one could be more devoted to you than I.
But how can I say this… the pedestal I put you on has shattered. I’ve lost my suburban wonder. I’ve become too spoiled by having you, (and all you have to offer) on a plate all the time. Anyways, ours is a open relationship, and with the amount of people you are involved with, why should I matter?. Transient is your middle name after all.
There was a time when I resolved that ours was true storybook love. I would build my castle in your kingdom. I made all the commitments you would expect me to make. But something was fluttering in the back of my mind. Before I said my vows, was I really ready to settle? Really? My eyes began to wander and images of other cities became all the more enticing. By comparison they seemed so much more edgy, alive, political, alternative, sexy, beautiful. I questioned my decision to commit to you. What were you doing for me anyhow? Your charms seemed considerably lacking.
I felt this on and off for some time. But let the record hold that I was never ever unfaithful to you (well… we don’t count those 8 months with new york, you were very cool about that, and I came running back anyway.) and I would never hear of anyone talking any part of you down (well maybe in regards to the weather, but it is terribly temperamental). Let’s face it, 10 years is a respectable time for a serious relationship. I loved you too much to give up on you entirely, but I wanted to escape and forget you for a short while. I began fantasizing about it… often.
paris ,
Barcelona or
new york , you threw a couple characters my way. The kind of characters that gave me that exciting thrill of discovery. The kind of thrill that drew me to you in the first place and kept me crazy about you for years and years. And these other two loved you just as much but were also a little jaded with you.. Our collective energy collided and I had the kind of Saturday night I was sure you could only have on holiday in uncharted urban lands. And I realised that these experiences are always possible, it’s just sometimes you have to radically alter your routines to find them. 
I told myself t a trial separation would revive what we had again. And just as I was on the brink of making my rendezvous plans, as my dreams filled with possibilities of
I’ve been too demanding . You can’t always provide for me the way I would like you to. I have to make the effort. I may know you more intimately than when we first met, But there is still so much of you that I could know. So forgive me for doubting you. I’m sure you must go through it often but. I’m sorry.
But hey I was thinking, rather than us getting all married and settled can we go about things less conventionally? I was hoping we could have a series of mad tempestuous affairs.. I have a feeling you’d be up for it…
Affairs with London would always feel rather sordid wouldn’t they? A bit like shagging your history teacher who looked good at the front in glasses but mid-30’s with a slight paunch and a small bald spot isn’t quite so glam in the buff. Then again, you could love the same man to infinity as a husband. Or the flipside London as the rosy cheeked, mother of four who’s spread a little. Has her moments in a posh evening gown (a la bond st, park lane etc) but permenantly sports some food stain or other suffered at the hands of one of her wayward progeny. Always a little bit dirty and ‘lived in’ but no less charming for it.
“When a (wo)man tires of London, she tires of life”. I think ‘life’ is normality. London is the place you put in for the long haul. The ‘big one’. A relationship like a cathedral built one brick at a time. You have moments where you disappoint each other monumentally, but always find something worth fighting for. If not, why are there so many people who have lived every where else, settled in the city? Where else do you find a population hugging itself with grim glee at the dogged resolve to play ‘business as usual’ after a bombing? Where else would you find people defending food that can’t fight for itself? Where else do you find such tolerance towards the individual? Certainly not in Rome, Paris, NY, BA or Sydney. Ich bin ein Londoner. (although Oxford is also looking very saucy this spring). Alf
Alfred — April 18, 2006 @ 1:53 am