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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

Tough Love

Dear London,

I realise I haven’t written to you for a while, and I apologise for that. You know how it is – working, studying, travelling, and that alcohol isn’t going to drink itself into an early grave – and suddenly it’s November and you seem to be annoyed at me.

Is that what it is, London? Have I not corresponded enough in the recent past? Because you seem to be sending all manner of negative vibes my way, London. Perhaps we need to talk.

For a start, London, please try and bear in mind that, now it’s winter time, that does not mean that each and everyone one of you must spend your time on the tube sneezing and/or coughing into your hands and then immediately putting said infected hand onto the handrails. But please, London, don’t misinterpret what I’m saying here – this behaviour, abhorrent as it is, is preferable to the other option in which you sneeze and/or cough all over the back of my head. Into your hands be it, if that’s the only option. But I’ve a third way to suggest for you, London, and I hope you take it on board: tissues. Try them. I think you’ll like them.

Another thing, London, that I think you might be doing just to annoy me: the road works. You’ve already dug up the Victorian watermains twice, London. You’ve done that now. You’ve also resurfaced the road, and then almost immediately dug it up again, this time to do something with the gas line. But two days ago, you started digging up the pavement, an area previously untouched in your on-going digging extravaganza, and this time round I don’t know why. London, you usually send your representatives out in DayGlo jackets that spell out for me what exactly they are doing, digging up my road late into the night with the heavy machinery that makes our building shake. But this time round, the DayGlo jackets are present, but the information isn’t there. Help me out here, London. Throw me a bone. Or are you, as I deeply suspect, doing this for no reason whatsoever, and you can’t even be bothered to pretend?

As the darkness closes in around us, as the temperature drops and everyone is in even more of a hurry to get to where they’re going, it would be really great you could stop mucking me about, London. Oh, don’t give me that look. You know what I’m talking about: yes, the trains. You know it’s the trains. Please, London, in the morning I am in no fit state to stand for up to 20 minutes in the freezing cold for a train that is perpetually about to arrive in 2 minutes time. Stop it with the empty promises, London, else I’m going to have to go elsewhere for my residential loving.

Oh yes, you heard me. I mean it, too. Think on, London, think on. There are many other cities vying for my attention. Buck up your ideas, there. Else I’m outta.


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