Back in New Zealand, if there was a 120 year old pub in the centre of a grand Victorian experiment in urban housing that would go on to influence how suburbs are built around the world, still serving booze and decent food… Well, it would be a national landmark.
The pub in question is the Tabard and it’s my local.
And it’s not a landmark. It’s not even really known beyond the surrounding couple of miles. This is because you go a couple of miles in any direction in London and you find something equally (or most probably more) impressive.
When I first moved into the area I used to really marvel at the floors and the Victorian tiling running along the tops of the walls. Or the large -almost camp- ornate wooden spirit shelves behind the bar. It was a guilty pleasure going there for a drink… Like sneaking wine into a museum exhibit.
But now it’s just background. It’s normal in the way the three volcanoes I could see from my kitchen window in Parnell became normal. It is only occasionally now that I marvel at the little details in the corners of London life. That’s my failing. I need to make more of an effort to seek them out.
Hence, the logarithmic disappointment of London. The longer you stay, the more conscious your efforts need to be in enjoying the place. In a strange way, this makes you feel more local. Because Londoners DO make the effort to seek out the little corners of awesome in their lives. It’s part of being a resident here. And it’s more than a bit fun.
What’s brought on this reflective yammering?
Well, it feels like home here at the moment.
No, no… You misunderstand me. London does not feel like my home. It feels like home here at the moment. The British are undergoing their own version of a heatwave. It’s quite cute.
Because that’s not a heatwave… THIS is a heatwave.
Temperatures “of at least” 32 degrees have got the authorities panicking that we will be dying in the thousands. Meanwhile, I’m loving it. It genuinely feels like Christmas. It’s hot, it’s dry… We even had roast turkey on Sunday night because my body associates that taste with this kind of weather.
When I get to work in the mornings everyone is moaning about the temperature.(The British? Really?!) I shrug. It’s all good. Then the other Australian in the team shows up. “Isn’t this weather fantastic?!?”
Yes. Yes, it is. Where I come from dry, warm weather that means you can sit, drink and chat in the backyard until 11pm is a cause for celebration. Not a cause for mass panic and shrill BBC alerts about the NHS being swamped by cases of heatstroke.
Sometimes you have to work at it, but it truly is fantastic here. Especially when it feels like home.
My friend sent this to me as I’d had exactly the same conversation with my English friends (yes, that’s right I’m an Aussie who lives in London, has English friends and does not work in a pub, go to walkabouts or watch neighbours…we do exist). I’m loving the fact that back in Australia I was considered gloomy but here I’m considered down right upbeat! I’m almost dissapointed with my work mates who have complained about the wet, cold weather all year, with one work mate professing that she was not designed for cold weather, for them to be so predictable to start complaining about the current gorgeous weather to the point that the same workmate professed that the weather makes her sick if it goes anything about 25.
At least as they moan about the heat, when I get the inevitable “why did you move here?” question I can point out to them this “unbearably hot day” they are moaning about is not really that hot! “You don’t like this weather – try putting up with it most the year… and this would be a nice day! That’s why I moved here!!!!” – and because there is more to life than the weather!
“There is more to life than the weather.” I like it.
I usually go with “well, you don’t move to London for the snorkelling.” Seems to go over well.