You can’t be immune to how London affects you. There are wonderful things that inspire, and there are aspects of living here that don’t you just hate.
Two things I love:
I love the diversity, the ebb and flow of races, religions, cultures, music, dancing. How walking along Edgware Road I am in Little Lebanon. I walk past the pub “An English Gentleman” and there are no English looking gentlemen in sight, but plenty of Middle Eastern. In the Church Street markets you could be in Lebanon but for the familiarly London ugly council flats in the background.
Where else would there be such a celebration of cultures as during Refugee Week, staged on Southbank.
Only in London, anything goes, tolerance reigns.
There may be undercurrents of resentment if the surface is scratched but mostly Londoners have big hearts and can see the big picture. It’s an international community, bonded by the pleasure of living in a city that has so many stories, so much history, and in the blink of an eye, we are all part of it.
I love the eccentricity which is connected to the diversity. The English in particular seemed to have a penchant for being eccentric. Take my neighbours, for instance. Please do!
Living directly below me is Russian Spy and his diminutive wife Sari. When I first moved in Russian Spy knocked on my door, swept in and puffing out his chest he told me he was president of the residents association. What he didn’t tell me was that he was the only member of it.
About to renovate my dump of a flat, he told me what I could or couldn’t do. Or else the freeholder would be down on me like a ton of bricks. Throughout the renovations he thumped on my door continually, complaining, bullying and telling me the local Westminster Council regulations. Or else he would send Sacha and only come up for the really important complaints.
I learned from Muso, the ageing musician downstairs that Russian Spy had threatened the last tenants in my flat with a gun and the police were called.
Muso had been a well known double bass player, performing with major orchestras in the days of the big bands when ballroom dancing in venues such as the Astoria, and the Hammersmith Palais and at your local town hall, was a popular event for the masses. In recent years he could be seen pedalling his double bass around London strapped with him to his bicycle.
He was very helpful those first couple of days. He invited me in for a cup of tea, telling me stories of his past glories. The days when he was like a rock star and had any girl he wanted. In the next breath he invited me to stay until breakfast as long as I brought him breakfast in bed.
Just looking at his white hairy chest with his shirt undone down to his baggy shorts, I didn’t have to answer to either proposition. I finished my last cup of tea with Muso. He never stops trying though, with me, my friends, any passing tourist, as he waters the flowers in the plant box and keeps a beady eye out for anyone who might like to stay over.
Where else would you find eccentric characters like this? Don’t tell me!
