Two years today I moved to London. How fucking bizarre is that? Imagine me, turning up at the airport, fresh faced and full of wonder. No idea what the fuck I was doing. I remember my first few weeks - I was fuckin' terrified. Glasgow's a reasonable sized city, but it can't prepare you for the enormity of London. 'Thrown in at the deep end' doesn't even begin to describe it.
But that's always the best way to teach a drunken baby to swim. Look at me now. Haggard. Cynical. Sporting a beard and dressing like a homosexual. Talking about house prices and congestion charges and production houses in Soho. I don't bat an eyelid when I pay 4 quid for a pint in some faux trendy wankhole in Hoxton. I don't bat an eyelid when I careen down the wrong stairs in some grubby tube station, fighting against the tide, knocking some pregnant banker down, clattering onto the platform. Just to shave 15 seconds off my commute. I have never earned so much money, nor been so skint in my life.
And I fucking love it.
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