Maybe It's Because I'm Not A Londoner...
...or maybe it's because Mrs Z. has to shoe-horn me out of bed at half past four in the morning to catch the early flight from Inverness to Gatwick, but somehow, at some point in the past, the thrill of visiting London just disappeared.
Yet I know lots of people, not just ´óÏó´«Ã½ colleagues but sensible people too, who wont say a bad word about the place. Instead they talk about all the things this city has to offer; theatres, nightclubs, museums, bridges that go up and down in the middle. Except that when you dig a little deeper you find that those same people rarely visit the said theatres, museums, bridges etc. Instead they spend a lot of time getting to work and back. They trade stories about horrendous commuter journeys. Never mind that time the Tube got delayed in a tunnel for four weeks, what about the time my taxi driver took me to Fulhan via Swansea. That kind of thing.
But maybe you do have to live here for a while to really appreciate this great metropolis. Perhaps, after a couple of weeks, you start dressing like a Pearly Queen, eating jellied eels and going down the Strand to have a banana.
I'll never know. I'm sitting at Heathrow airport wiating for my flight to Glasgow.
Now where did I put my kilt and sporran? Och aye the noo.
