Sheep

I had to return to Old Street today, to pick up some papers from my old counselling college, and I assumed my feet would find their habitual way back to Moorgate, a trip they used to make every week for a year. Either they didn't, or someone has been moving buildings and possibly deleting an entire square.

I found myself lost and absolutely refused to use my phone to find my way, because I count myself as someone who 'knows' London, having lived in it for ten years. Happily, before the miniscule twinges of panic took grip, I was distracted by lights! Not just any lights, but a square full of lit up yellow and green lines, edged with warnings of tripping hazards (lesson number one in how to take the fun out of an installation). It looked like a disco floor, so obviously I took a detour so I could walk across it and it was absolutely as exciting as I thought it would be.

As I crossed this square, with no idea of where I was going, I suddenly noticed the sheep - thick rivers of people in suits all headed in the same direction - and it was then that I realised that finding a tube station in London in rush hour is remarkably easy - just follow the largest river of people.

To my delight this worked, though it took me to Liverpool Street station rather than Moorgate, but that was fine. Clearly this trick only works if you don't really care which station you end up at, but really, once you're in the tube system, it's impossible to get lost, at least, for a seasoned ex Londoner such as myself.

I felt slightly sad not to be meeting up with anyone, the love of London in my heart and me wanting to share it, but it's been a long day of client work, punctuated by tea (with soya milk) and polenta cake with my friend and her daughter in the cafe in Highgate Woods, with sunshine and trees all around.

Actually, on reflection, it's good that I'm going home, because this deep excitement and thrill I feel, when I lived in London, often led to over-activity, no time for myself, not enough sleep and an increasing sense of restlessness. I used to end up feeling, after all the excitement and endless nights out, like an overtired, grumpy toddler.

I've had a great date with London today, but I've no desire to have the relationship I used to have with it. I'm happy to go home, put on my slipper socks, heat up my leftover mango chutney and shallot chicken from last night and read a good book. Despite that, I'm glad that my love for London has finally returned, but without the attachment and slightly codependent feeling.

A happy me is on the slow train home.