Help, we’re all becoming really London

You might have thought you were a city person, or you might be the original country bumpkin, but all we know now is that after six months at uni in the capital, we’ve all become very… London.

Now your friends from home are ripping you after innocently suggesting brunch, and you realise you’ve sold your soul.

The (significant) change in dress-sense

Went to London, came back an Arts student – or so the saying goes. Chances are when you leave London for home, you will be asked:

A) Are you okay?

B) Why are you wearing a flannel for a shirt?

Hey, the London trends will catch on where you are too…eventually. 

Pretty much in my normal clothes anyway

‘Have you heard of [insert obscure club] in Shoreditch?’

The club will cost £8 minimum for entry. After queuing for hours outside, you enter – cold through – into a club decorated with a thousand hanging filament light bulbs. There are bare brick walls, craft beers, jam-jar cocktails and an inordinate number of hipsters wearing vintage Adidas.

Drinking cocktails from a teapot

You’ve adopted the ‘London walk’

This no-nonsense march is often exercised during rush hour, to overtake the many tourists blocking the pavement. You liken your speed to Usain Bolt, and depending on how many charity fundraisers are about, you may exceed that.

Pre-overtake

‘Have you heard of [insert speciality café] in Shoreditch?’ 

You visit cafes occupied by writers, poets and arty people drinking £3.50 flat whites. Your friends at home will hate you for it. Last week you went to the Cereal Killer Café, this week you went to pay-per-minute Ziferblat café, and next week you’ll probably go to Lady Dinah’s Cat Emporium.

The Cereal Killer Cafe

You’re no longer phased by how overpriced London is

We know London is expensive – there’s no need to rub salt in the wound. We’re not masochists, we don’t enjoy coughing up £4 for a pint. It just turns out there’s a price to pay if you want to live in one of the world’s best cities.

‘I’d have all the money in the world, if I was a wealthy girl’ – Gwen Stefani

Tube strike = end of the world

Please. Just. No. Don’t let make me navigate the buses to uni at rush hour.

NB: a true Londoner will experience at least one tube strike during exams.

Distraught

The left hand-side of the escalator will never be the same again

Even in department stores, you won’t dare stand – motionless – on the left-hand side of the escalator. Just in case five angry business men, all wearing Armani suits, push past and send you plummeting to your death.

He’s just taking up all the space

You have at least one ridiculous story from the night bus

On the night bus last week Jilly told me she couldn’t go home with a man, who she had been furiously snogging a few minutes ago, because she’s “too nice”. Fretting she asked me whether she should have dumped her boyfriend, who she had caught sexting other women. “Jilly, yes, yes you should”, I said.

So many night buses

You’ve realised the useless looking button by the Tube door really is, useless

Stop pressing it. Please, oh god, stop pressing it. Even if the Tube were stationary, which it’s not, the doors wouldn’t open any quicker.

Admittedly the button does work on the DLR

You’re always falling in love on the Tube

Look at X. Oceanic, turquoise eyes staring at you across the carriage: an azure sky that brightens your day. What is X reading? Oh it’s your favourite book. Although the sound is inaudible you’re convinced X is listening to that awesome band you saw last week. Alas, before you know it, X has reached their stop – you missed yours 10 minutes ago.

As X steps onto the platform your eyes meet for one last life-stopping, heart-wrenching, stomach-churning time. Then, X is gone. Forever.

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‘Have you heard of [insert pop-up venue] in Shoreditch?’

There’s just been so many – McVities’ ‘cuddle café’, the ‘Camden Beach’ at the Roundhouse, the Hex Your Ex workshop – and you hate that you love them. This month, London is getting a pop-up owl bar.

Pizza on a bus? Cray

Knowing which carriage to get on the Tube so you’re perfectly aligned with the exit at your stop

It’s sad, but there is a certain amount of satisfaction gained by leaving the Tube immediately opposite the platform exit. In fact, it’s not sad. It’s just efficient. And you don’t understand why everyone else hasn’t thought of doing the same.

Ohhh yeahhhhh

You can’t remember what happiness feels like

The stench wafts over to my unkempt nostrils – that sickly-sweet aroma. Happiness. What are they even smiling about? That’s what I want to know. Parents laughing with their children. Loved-up couples, nuzzling one another’s euphoric shoulders on the bus journey home. Why are you so content? What made you so chirpy in this god forsaken, concrete-grey metropolis? The rest of us are too busy trying to find the rent for our over-priced, claustrophobic bedrooms.

They just look so… happy

You’ve finally got your head around the Northern line

All those branches, they don’t mean anything to you. Charing Cross and Bank, they’re just silly names – obsolete reference points. You know exactly where you are. And you secretly love watching hapless tourists realise they’re on the wrong branch after a wonderful afternoon of getting ripped off at Camden Market.

You don’t scare me

Just…Tinder

London, the City of Lust. It kind of started out as a joke, but now Tinder is a serious topic of conversation. It is no longer surprising to discover a besotted couple/casual fling met on Tinder. But let them have their fun. Is there really any difference between meeting your one nightstand in a club or on an app? Of course not. Again, Tinder is just efficient.

What now, then? 

London is a bastard. It will chew you up, screw you over and spit you out – a penniless, dejected wreck. But let the haters hate. London, we love you.