THE “honeymoon period” is that wonderful time at the beginning of a relationship when everything is perfect. You get those little butterflies in your stomach and you can’t bear to be separated for long periods of time. Each relationship is different, but sometime after the first six months you start to become comfortable with each other and the truth is exposed, warts and all.
It is no secret I am in love with London, and, like any new love, I am beginning to become more comfortable in my relationship. I no longer fear missing a flight, not having a place to stay or not knowing how to get from A to B in a foreign country. I am also more tolerant of crammed public transport and others trying to communicate with me in a language I do not know. While I am more cautious about my belongings, I no longer fear losing my passport or having my bag stolen. Drawing from my own experience in Paris last May, I know I can handle such a situation.
However, along with feeling comfortable comes the revelation of the quirks, the things which make a relationship stay interesting. It’s for you to decide what is a quirk, and what will turn out to be a deal-breaker.
And, my dear old London, there is one thing I just can’t understand about you. Despite you being a city of famous attractions, amazing bars and restaurants, fast public transport and interesting people, there is something about you that drives me crazy.
You have terrible footpaths. That is all. I have said it.
How can you expect a lady to look good when she is weaving a warpath through the narrow laneways on uneven pavement and slippery cobblestones? I have this increasing fear of tripping over and falling flat on my face every day. My toes curl as I approach the deep gutters when crossing the road and my stomach churns at the thought of walking in high heels through the streets.
Perhaps it is me?
After all, it was only one year ago that I was recovering from foot surgery in France after a wild night featuring a stolen bag, my terrible balance and a Parisian footpath. Has my brief fling with Paris destroyed all hope of having a decent relationship with another faulty footpathed city?
Will I carry this baggage around with me forever or can we work out our differences? Can we learn to compromise? I promise not to wear heels that abate my balance if you provide dry conditions in which to combat your terrible walkways.
London, I am not ready for our love affair to end just yet. I am sticking around, and hopefully we can work out this quirk.
