What did I do last weekend, I hear you ask? Christ! What didn’t I do! On Friday I finished work early and went to exercise at my studio near Old Street, in east London. After that I decided to walk, meanderingly, all the way back to Soho. I went through Clerkenwell, and visited the Museum of the Order of St John, in the City of London, as well as St Peter’s.
The church is Roman Catholic and gloriously Italian; a hangover from when the area was known as “Little Italy”, and home to a 12,000-strong community. Joseph Grimaldi, the famous 19th-century clown, was born there; every year, they still host a procession for Our Lady of Mount Carmel.
From there, I ended up at the Contemporary Ceramics Centre, because I’d originally wanted to go to the British Museum but realised, once there, that I couldn’t really be bothered with it. I’d never heard of the place before, but found it charming. Finally, I walked to the Photographer’s Gallery, in the heart of Soho, and looked at Peter Mitchell’s beautiful pictures of Leeds.
On Saturday I looked up, realised it was wonderful and sunny outside, and decided to take a boat along the Thames, from Vauxhall, near where I live, all the way to Greenwich in south-east London. Once there, I lovingly gazed at the Cutty Sark, the great clipper ship now serving as a museum, then went to walk around the Old Royal Naval College.
On Sunday, I travelled east again, this time towards the Isle of Dogs. I walked through the metallic, unfamiliar lands of Canary Wharf, and eventually landed at my destination – Mudchute City Farm. There, I petted the cows and the sheep, and watched the pigs grumpily eat their slop, and the chickens merrily run around their enclosure. After that, I walked along the Thames path for some time, eventually ending up at the oddly charming Isle of Dogs sewage pumping station. No, really, Google it.
By the end of the weekend, I was exhausted and content. The weather had been nice and I’d made the most of it. Perhaps most importantly, my jaunts had reminded me of just how much I do actually love living in London. It’s an easy thing to forget, isn’t it? It applies to wherever you happen to be living; like an old marriage, you become so used to your spouse’s presence that you start taking them for granted.
Hell, you don’t even really see them any more. They’ve become such a part of your life that you nearly forget things could be different. If anything, you end up mostly noticing the negatives; the annoying things, and the things you wish were better. If you’ve been reading this column for a while, you’ll know that this is something I’ve been feeling quite acutely for some time now. In 2024, I escaped to New York for a few months, because I just felt too bored; earlier this year, I ran to Marrakech for a while, for similar reasons.
This time, however, I’ve decided I need to make my marriage work. In order to do so, I started looking back at times when I’ve truly loved London. What many of them had in common was that I was showing the city to visiting friends or relatives. Able to look at London through the lens of tourists, I suddenly found it thrilling, beautiful, and full of promise. My question was: why couldn’t I do that by myself as well? What was stopping me?
Armed with this epiphany, I started walking around neighbourhoods I know like the back of my hand and really, truly looking at my surroundings. I looked up at the buildings, and I peered into the windows of old, little independent shops. I walked along the Thames and gazed at all the bridges, and I made an effort to visit all the attractions I’d previously dismissed as basic, overly done or simply too far away to bother with.
I went to a city farm despite not having any children to bring with me, as cover, and after I finish writing this column I’ll be joining a friend and going to another one. Apparently there are no limits to the number of animals I’m willing to pet in the space of 24 hours. All in all, I’m having a great time, and am now hugely looking forward to the days getting longer and warmer, so I can do even more.
At risk of stating the obvious, my new approach to life doesn’t have to be centred around London at all. Whether you live in a city or a town, or even in the country, there must be places and things you know are near but never really think about. My question to you, then, is: why not? Why not treat your own surroundings like you’re proudly showing them to people you care about? It won’t cost you a thing, and I can guarantee that it’ll make your life better – heaven knows we need all the cheap joy we can get right now.
