I moved to London on a dreary Sunday in January 11 years ago. I moved on my own which is commonly how people arrive in London – alone, independent and part excited, part terrified.
For me, moving on my own felt significant as when I left my Edinburgh flat for the final time, I was not only making a giant life change, I was literally closing the door on my relationship. The man I’d spent 18 months living with became my ex-boyfriend as I got into a taxi and the front door of our quaint apartment closed behind me. We’d mutually agreed I should move to London and pursue a dream job in PR, but despite the excitement and his blessing, leaving felt incredibly hard.
To this day, many people praise my knowledge of the London transport system. I’m honest about the fact that when I was new here, in lieu of obligations, plans or any friends, I’d spend my free time travelling on the tube navigating my way from different parts to the city to another, preparing myself for a real-life situation of getting lost. I was always too mature to aimlessly venture to Cockfosters for the obligatory childish photo.
Your London Sister 