I love London. For churches at night and having your heart broken several times over by the words of a long-legged, tattooed man with a voice and strummings that might just be heaven- (or hell-?) sent. For all its galleries (particularly the British Library this time, which totally delivered on all levels. More later this week). For cafes in antique shops and dropping your mobile down the loo (before pissing) because you're too busy looking at the decor, and so having to negotiate the city and meet friends without being able to call or plan ahead. For little kids who somehow know that their mum needs to talk. For dodgy footwear and cold ankles but a beer for a reward. For borrowed leggings and bad burger bars late at night. For friends.
And I love coming home to a bright cold sky, a warm house, my cats and a roast on the table.