I need to jump up and get out of the flat, explore nearby areas etc etc. Can barely bring myself to wander down the local high street. Sometimes in Paris I would get in this mood, I'm not looking back through rose-tinted spectacles and pretending I was a dynamic, happy-go-lucky city adventurer every minute of every day, but at least I went out most of the time, trekked across the city and tried new places.
I'm just an English girl living in England now, so what's the point in running around London pretending I'm here on holiday? Maybe it's because I'm not in the centre like I was, so I don't see the touristy stuff everyday.
There was a moment last weekend, when I changed tubes and got on an overground train, and as I walked down the platform I realised we were quite high up and there was a nice view of the city. I saw the spires*of London, glowing and glittering against a dark cityscape, wide bridges and even wider waters between us and the buildings. I did a little jump inside and said, “I can't believe I actually moved here, it seems real when I see all that.”
And the person I was with just looked at me like I was a dickhead.
Tut. I miss the days when I could say things like that every other minute and instead of looking at me like I was a dickhead, whoever I was with would say “I know, I know isn't life amazing and none of our friends from home are here to listen to our conversation and tell us we're being nobs let's go and get a rose eclair and sit by the river or a champagne cocktail or both because we're in Paris and we don't pay rent and we've got loads of disposable income!"
I've been thinking though, about all that cash I used to have hidden away in bikini tops (I'd slip it in the little padding pocket) and empty perfume boxes... I'm glad I spent it all. I'm glad I didn't save up any money, because then I'd have loads of money and clearly, when I have loads of money, I just spend it. So you see? It's a Catch 22 isn't it? Le serpent qui se mord sa queue.
Any money I get seems to go on cheese and clothes hangers. I never would have bought cheese or clothes hangers when I lived in Paris, see how having to pay rent has already turned me into a sensible, practical grown-up?
Cheese is proper dear, by the way. A block of cheddar costs more than a Megabus ticket to Paris. The coach journey would last for about eight hours too, whereas the cheese could be gone in about twenty minutes.
I'm scared I'm going to stay in this mood for months, emerging in the spring like a reverse-butterfly, crashing out of my cocoon like a fat, pale floppy thing.
There's only one thing that can cheer me up and luckily, it's Halloween tomorrow, so it's a very appropriate time to post this video:
*small possibility they they were tower blocks, not spires.