We’ve been together for FIVE years now. Mad, right? Sometimes I still feel like the helpless mess on week one of commuting life, virtually sobbing in a tunnel somewhere at Bank station as I tried to figure out which exit to take (disclaimer: I still haven’t quite mastered this one).

Our union was always a natural one. I studied Journalism at Kingston University, which despite the marketing is categorically not in London. I’ve been late for far too many work experience gigs to call suburban Zone 6 part of the city… Anyway, it was natural that I’d end up moving to the city eventually. ALL the jobs were there. Well, maybe not strictly true, but they certainly weren’t in the tiny hamlet in Somerset I grew up in.

I’d spent my childhood in the most wholesome environments ever. We always lived in houses that either had beams or fireplaces (usually both), and we always had outside space. This ranged from big garden to one acre field, and the rural settings my parents favoured meant I’d grown up constantly playing outside. This was seemingly idyllic until the teenage angst started to kick in. Any town worth visiting was at least an hour away. I didn’t live on a bus route and I had to rely on family members to drop me off at train stations, pick me up from nights out, and generally act as my personal chauffeur. The clubs were tiny, sticky and full of more angst, and I just always had the feeling that there was something more.

So when I eventually made it and unpacked my pile of belongings into a tiny single room in a friend’s flat in Battersea, I felt like I’d REALLY made it. At first, anyway. This was it: my big moment. I’d be snapped up by a magazine in no time, and I’d wear pencil skirts to work and file witty column pieces, and drink lots of wine at fancy dinners.

It soon became apparent that you, London, do not just hand these things out to everyone.

I struggled, and I mean really struggled, to get myself a job. I was a graduate with a really good skillset and respectable 2:1 in Journalism, but I could barely get invited in for interview unless the work experience was unpaid. I spent days in a flat, draining my savings on rent and constantly inventing new ways to buy myself another month. I sold my car. I lived on soup. My days left me depressingly confined within the flat, where I did home workouts, applied for jobs, and cried all the time.

One saving grace in the midst of graduate depression was where I lived. I was a stone’s throw from Battersea Park and the Albert Bridge, so in essence a stone’s throw from some of the most incredible views in the city. It was an affluent area which sucked for supermarket shopping, but was great for saving on an Oyster card. I’d sit on the 19 for a measly £1.50 bus fare and travel right into Piccadilly and beyond. I could walk to Harrods and Hyde Park. Those moments of space; looking up and seeing how beautiful the city is… they really saved me. In my darkest times I held on because of that small glimmer of hope and opportunity.

After a few months of terribly paid work experience (£10 a day was a particular low), I managed to get a proper job. It didn’t really involve writing columns or wearing pencil skirts, but it did give me a solid foundation in Content Marketing, a brilliant group of work friends and somewhat of a social life. I had a purpose. I had a regular commute, and a routine centring around which free magazines I picked up on which days. I had lunchboxes and work drinks and enough of my uni friends lived in south London that we could scrape together our measly salaries and have one night out a month.

It felt like I was starting to get it. I left the Battersea flat and moved in to a friend’s spare room in Tooting, where I eventually settled for three years. I fell in love with this quirky pocket of town – a place I still proudly say I saw transform before my own eyes. You’re not a proper Londoner until you’ve got an anecdote about your neighbourhood “coming up”, and I really felt like I was part of the Tooting renaissance. It went from somewhere dark and shadowy where litter picking didn’t exist and chicken burgers decayed outside your front door, to somewhere gritty yet glamorous – with brunch spots and artisan coffee shops and cocktail bars and a club people considered to be cool. It was Clapham mark two, but with less rugby players. The commute was absolutely hideous, but it somehow always felt worth it for the promise of BYOB curry houses and a three-floor Primark when I got home.

I can proudly say I had my best London years (yet) in Tooting. It was the formative place that really made me feel like a Londoner. I had things to complain about (the Northern Line), stuff to recommend (Apollo Banana Leaf), and a working knowledge of south west London.

But in all honesty nothing made me love you, London, quite like my boyfriend. We met in our Farringdon office in 2016 and in the three years since have devoted much of our time to exploring together. Walking around London is nice, but it’s ten times better with someone by your side. We’ve had so many Sundays traipsing down the South Bank; searching for ice cream in Soho; walking around Goodge Street chatting lazily about our future plans.

Having a partner means accessing parts of London you couldn’t before too. We’ve got our favourite restaurants, our “places” – the city has become a patchwork of places where we’ve made memories together and grown in love.

He may have plucked me from south London, but now we live in north London together I’m getting to fall in love with the city all over again. I’m finding new spots, new excitement, and getting to be part of a new area that’s “coming up” (veryyyyy slowly).

So there we have it. Five whole years. It’s not always an easy place to live. There’s so many tourists, the weather can be cruel – there’s nothing as bad as a London winter. The cost of a g&t is frankly ridiculous. The pollution terrifies me. Sometimes it feels that the best parts of the city are reserved for those with privilege. Bankers and finance types get to enjoy vintage champagne on picturesque rooftops, while most of us work away on the ground and look for deals on Deliveroo so we can “treat” ourselves to lunch out.

But luckily the good has always outweighed the bad. Franco Manca. Diversity. A collective culture of openness and acceptance. The galleries that are free to look around. The brunches. The coffee shops. The view from London Bridge. The constant feeling of being part of history. The buildings and architecture you see around every corner if you just look up from your phone.  

My love affair with you, London, has lasted five years now and I really hope it lasts another five. It would be a shame for us to part ways when we’re so clearly made for each other. So do me a favour and keep the house prices down so we can buy ourselves that semi in Walthamstow with a garden, ok?

Yours faithfully,

Charlea