I just got back from a working weekend in London, and after spending some 18hrs+ travelling from Oslo to London and back I can't fanthom how I once thought commuting Oslo-London perfectly agreeable.
It was good to be back in London, somehow the city will always feel like home, and yet on this trip I felt glad I didn't live there anymore. That might of course be down to how I've recently found myself the loveliest flat in Oslo, in an old wooden house from 1700.
I feel grateful every day for living where I live now: I have apple trees outside my window, a fireplace in the kitchen and a four-legged neighbour called Marlon Brando. Life's very good here, and even the insulation and plumbing, despite the age of the house, is great - something you can't say for much of London's housing.
And yet, I feel nostalgic whenever I go to London and always wish I had more time to just goof around and catch up with old friends and old haunts.
Talking of old haunts, I stayed two nights in the Grafton, where I'd eaten once or twice when my ex worked nearby, and the hotel was better than the food it serves;-) As the hotel is on Tottenham Court Road I thought it'd be in perfect walking distance from Centre Point, the venue I was due to be at Friday night, but as I was stupid enough to get new shoes for the do I still ended up taking a taxi.
Here's a very traditionally British scene I walked past on my way to meet up with a friend in Chelsea:
Also, I can't seem to get this song out of my head these days:
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