…what am I to do?
The object of my affection is a city. NORWICH!
I love you , Norwich. I love the beautiful, interesting old buildings, I love the examples of people-oriented modern buildings. I love the fervour of the Canaries’ supporters, and the crazy Bacchanalia of Prince of Wales Rd (moving swiftly along, observing through a film of aged nostalgia, side-stepping the vomit)- and then a couple of streets away, the awesome hush that can descend on a weekday evening. I love the scooter boys and girls who congregate at my local pub once a week, and the peregrines on the Cathedral tower. I love the way the staff at the train station are so laid-back, kind and polite. I love Mousehold Heath, which is a bit like Bushwood in E11, which is a bit like the edges of the Forest in my good old Forest of Dean.
I could go on. I probably will. I write this from my East London suburb, having endured a somewhat delayed journey through fields of poppies and Canada Geese and signs by the track saying ‘Property Development Opportunity’ and high-rise blocks of flats and brick terraces and the alien awesomeness of Stratford Olympic Venue and Transport Hub, and all the while, the Roight Foine City is singing its song inside me.