The Last Girl in London

The dull thud in the stomach, the irritation just under the skin, the tapping finger, the lip twitch. Itchy feet. The suspicion that the old adage about greener grass could possibly be true. That it might be now or never.

These seem to be the buzz words for A/W 09 - as the cold creeps in so we retreat to dreams of sunnier climes and sunnier people - whether it be a relocation, career shake up, or delayed gap year, Londoners seem to be getting a bit sick of London aroundaboutnow. Maybe it's because we're all poor? Or maybe it's because we've been working a while and, actually, we had more fun when we weren't. Maybe everyone's got SAD (seasonal affective disorder).

Everyone except me that is. I'm the odd one at the party who still loves it here. Even when it rains in July, even when Oxford circus tube station is closed due to overcrowding, even when there are Christmas decorations in John Lewis at the beginning of October. Occasionally, in darker moments, i ponder upping sticks to Borneo to rehabilitate orangutans - but this is nearly always shortlived. Especially once I remember that they bite and that there's no topshop. London is the safe, warm and woolly jumper I always go back to. Even if it's threadbare and not always a perfect fit. It's home and it's mine.