A Love Letter to London
~ Words by Vickie Sam Paget, Blue Sky Content ~
This feature first appeared on our magazine website, marvellousmutterings.com, following the terrorist attack in London, England, in March 2017.
Thursday March 23, 2017
Dear London,
I know it’s been a fair few years since we were last together, but today I feel compelled to drop you a line to remind you just how much I love you.
There, I said it. Like most fly-by-night lovers, I don’t say it nearly enough, and for that, I’m sincerely sorry, London.
Because today, as I see images of your beautiful bridge, your fairy-castle parliament building and your sparkling eye flash across my television screen for all the wrong reasons, my heart sinks as I realize that I may, of late, have taken your love for granted.
Today, as this little ex-pat sits on her sofa in Canada and sips her Earl Grey tea out of her union jack cup, her heart is overflowing with genuine tenderness and affection for everything that (I don’t care how clichéd this may sound) makes Britain – and London – great.
London, the love between us may be imperfect – I never stick around for very long; I’ve been known to use and abuse you; and if I’m honest, I’m usually gone by the time you wake up in the morning – but I feel it’s time for me to put my cards on the table.
I’ve never let you know this before, but you do inspire me. You thrill me. I love the fact that I grew up in a country where to simply THINK of the capital city is to think of soaring palaces, mind-blowing artwork, romantic liaisons, fragrant curry dishes, free museums, nannies who sing about spoons full of sugar, grand gardens, blushing princesses, bangers and mash, raucous sing-a-longs, mighty architecture, pipe-smoking super-sleuths, rhythmic poetry, stiff upper lips, big red buses, resplendent palace guards, train stations with the same name as marmalade sandwich-eating bears, scandalous politicians, big clocks with big names, redder-than-red post boxes, fish and chips, cigar-smoking prime ministers that resemble bulldogs, heart-flipping cathedrals, union jack umbrellas, keeping calm and carrying on, Terry meeting Julie at Waterloo Station every Friday night, and cosy, cosy pubs with frothy, frothy pints.
I could go on and on, but we’d be here forever.
I hope you can see, London, that on all of those fleeting visits – all of those brief romantic sojourns – I really was paying attention. Your charms did not go unappreciated.
But at the same time I realize that nobody is perfect. My love is not blind. That’s why I even adore your rough and tumble side: your tales of debauchery, your strumpets with their too-tight bodices and cherry-red cheeks, your body-snatchers, your workhouses, your sweat, smells, smoke and smog, your gin palaces and drinking dens, your Artful Dodger and (dare I murmur his name?) your Jack the Ripper.
You are, my love, a monopoly board of multifaceted magnificence, and even though I am far, far away, you have a very special place reserved deep in my heart.
And I cannot express my true adoration for you without mentioning your spirit. What can I say except: WOW. The Black Death, the Great Fire, the Blitz, the Great Smog, the Bloody, Bloody Awful Weather… Never, ever forget that you’re made of sturdy stuff, London.
Take good care of yourself London.
All my love,
Vickie Sam x
Image: flickr.com/photos/garryknight
This feature first appeared on our sister Vancouver blog marvellousmutterings.com.
