Relationship Therapy

I think London and I need couples therapy. We are drifting apart, I am feeling resentful and if we aren't careful there is going to be a nasty breakup.

It isn't entirely London's fault. It is my fault too - I have changed, we both have - going our separate ways, hanging out with different crowds.

My overly santised upbringing in salt lake city doomed our relationship from the start. Things I found cute and quirky at first, like the chicken bones scattered in the street and the scizophrenics on the bus, are the very things I hold agains London.

London is now officially the most expenisve city in the world - according to UBS. I read it in the Times (don't ask & don't judge - I usually buy the Independent). This would explain my distinct lack of disposable income. I work in a city I cannot afford to live in. It isn't that I am bored of London and bored of Life, I am broke in London and can't enjoy life.

When I first came to London, on holiday, I found it thrilling, dirty, busy and amazing. I saw my first herion needle in Charing Cross station - how alluring and mysterious for a 15 year old girl from Utah. Fast forward 8 years, living in a basement flat in Islington (don't get too excited - Hackney was directly across the street) that was prone to flooding, paying more in rent than my parents pay on their mortgage for a 5 bedroom house in an affluent neighbourhood, finding heroin needles was no longer a shocking thrill but an annoying weekly occurance. We kept latex gloves in the kitchen specifically for the task of picking them up from our stoop to throw away in the public bin by the bus stop.

Londoners are slobs - a half eaten pear eaten is casually discarded on the seat of a bus, a bite of an mealy apple spat on the floor of the tube train, spitting has crossed the gender barrier, men and women do it (one point for feminism in London) and it is customary with chicken, once eaten, to scatter the bones around bus stops. I haven't figured out if this is part of a religious ceremony to pay respect to the chicken or a way to keep tourists away.

I now own a flat in the outskirts of London. I don't even get the cache of living in London because whenever I have to give my address to someone "London" doesn't even feature into it and I am asked why, if we don't live in Croydon, do we have a Croydon postcode? I explain that it is how we keep the house prices down, heaven forbid that we get our share of market growth. Just trust me - it is still London - more so than vast swathes of so called West London. Upon moving there - to a neighbourhood that is predominately non-white and definitely non-affluent, my husband's aunt asked us how we were enjoying the "diversity". I had previously never heard the word diversity used as an indignity.

I won't lie, I loved the effect that our new home had on the woman who I take to be the sole representative of the Tory Scumbag Bougie South East but the reality is that it isn't particularly diverse. Almost everyone in our area is deprived apart from the few of us who have paid far too much for the privelege of being a home owner in the area. It doesn't matter what colour anyone is - if everyone is poor that is not diversity.

This is the crux of my problem with London, everywhere you live you are presented with the uncomfortable juxtaposition of abject povery and contemptible wealth. The middle bit that should be there to cushion the stark contrasts has all but been squeezed out of London by a ridiculous housing market and lack of committment on the part of people like me.

Citizenship and Crumpets

It's official - I am British.

I went to the Register's Office, swore allegiance to Her Magesty the Queen and became one of "them".

I thoroughly enjoyed the experience but don't you think that become British ought to involve the drinking of tea and perhaps the eating of crumpets or at least a scone? The spread consisted of two pitchers of orange squash, one pitcher of warmish tap water and a plate of stale biscuits. Hardly the open arms I expected Mother Brittania to offer her newest subjects.

Nevermind - back to the ceremony. Everything was fine and dandy, those who belived in god said and oath and us sinners said our affirmation (Just to clarify - I come from the school of thought than an affirmation should be something along the lines of "I am a strong and capable woman and I will achieve what I deserve in life" - this was not one of these) then we went up to collect our certificate, my home state was misspelled but I was too blissfully happy about being British to let that spoil anything.

Unfortunately, the Algerian man sitting next to me had other ideas.

"What a load of crap." he declared.

I tried ignoring but he wasn't the sort to pick up on such subtle social tactics. "Why do people want pictures? Why have they brought their families?"

"Maybe it is important to them." I suggested to him.

"To who? Who is this crap important to?"

"Me." I hissed.

Thankfully his name was called and he left directly after collecting his wins.

This got me to thinking... At first I was irritated that I had to take a citizenship test. I even called the home office and asked if my Masters degree from a top British University would mean that I was exempt from taking it. The operator laughed at me and said that the only people are exempt are not the kind of people who could do a Masters degree at any Univeristy, let alone a top one. I felt like a twat and bought the citizenship book from Amazon.

I took the test in less than 90 seconds, the test invigilator hadn't even finished logging all of us into the computers. I paid my £32 and thought - wow! what a little money spinner that is!

After my encounter with my fellow "British citizen" at the ceremony I have to say, I have changed my mind. Citizenship is important and the ceremony was meaningful, not just for me - there were 20 of us there and although I expect to see my friend on the front page next time they find and arrest would-be terrorists in South London, we were all happy to be there. Our families came, we posed for pictures and some of us even cried but most importantly we can now all choose to wait in the shortest line at the airport.