I Hate This Place 6

Haven't written anything since everything went weird in London.

Despite the last post, I didn't really worry about things. I'm pretty safe, and these things don't happen to me or people I know.

Then you've got last week and suddenly the world is turned on its head. Firstly, bomb alerts at stations which are getting worryingly close to routes that I take (you see, I've got the Not-In-My-Back-Yard attitude perfected). Then we get bomb alerts across the road from work. Deserted streets and buses, more information coming from BBC reporters than from our own security, our Mighty Leader deciding that it was just the right moment to start blathering on about Australia and their fascistic Prime Minister, possibly the only major world leader who can make George Bush look like a namby-pamby leftie. It's about then that I started thinking:

"I don't want to die in London."

Regular readers may remember my series of columns entitled "I Hate This Place", where I went on and on about how London isn't the greatest place in the world, but is in fact a stinking damp dog lying on the face fo humanity.

It's got its good points. The Proms - fantastic. And indeed the general music scene which is tremendous. The Mayor, who is a King. Yes, I like Ken Livingstone, and I'm not afraid to say it. He is a breath of fresh air in the world of politics by the fact that he doesn't lie. He doesn't give a shit about anywhere else except London, and he's very open about this fact. For that, I respect him. And for the fact that he regularly pisses off the spoilt rich kids of Kensington and Chelsea.

But there's no way I want to settle here. I'm a northern boy through and through, and London just doesn't agree with me. Living in London takes a lot out of you, what with the stress and all, and it only works while you take just as much back out of it. But you can't go on working and playing hard in a place like this - it leaves you exhausted.

I've always planned to retreat to York or somewhere round the North East to properly settle down. Yet now, and ashamed as I am to admit it, I'm starting to think there's a slight possibility (only slight, I know, but still possible) I might not achieve this goal. And that makes me hate London even more.

I feel ashamed to admit this. It's probably way to melodramatic. But that's what this blog is for.

I really should write about something different now - what do you reckon, carry on the Brief History of Chaulk? Commuter Boy? Or just vile brain-wrong?