Long Way Home

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I love this crazy ass town that is London. It’s the place I live, it’s the place I love and it’s the place I can’t imagine moving away from. I stumble out of a soho salsa club gasping for air ~ what a night. Seriously what a night! I’ve been grabbed, groped and ground into, but now I can’t breathe and I’m heading home. It’s only just gone midnight, but I’m done for, royally.

Eventually I find my way to Piccadilly ~ it’s busy as hell even though it’s after midnight ~ it’s bustling, the lights are great, I take a few pics, cause they’re great … I miss the last tube. So I start the walk home. I’m hoping not all the way, a taxi is unlikely, but I know where the bus goes from … Just all the way up Regent Street and along Oxford street. Please let there be a taxi, please, there isn’t.

If I were to write a list of why I loved London it would be long almost endless, but one of them is this… It’s gone midnight, yet I feel safe walking alone in these streets. There are hundreds, probably thousands of us just finding our way home. And most of us are in good cheer … except for those guys having a fight ..!

The Christmas lights are shining in all their reserved glory ~ they’re not ostentatious, they’re quietly magnificent as I’m plodding up Regent Street … in the middle of the road taking pics ~ I’m not the only one. Still no taxi. Maybe the Victoria line is still running.

Just as I get there the announcement comes. “All trains have left” … essentially you’re fucked!

I eye a rickshaw and contemplate a 5mile journey home in *that* … I keep walking ~ slowly heading towards Centrepoint and the bus that’ll take me on the first leg of the way home. Oh god!

Trundle trundle … my cheer is, I admit waning, but despite being late November it’s not that cold. The splatter of vomit hitting the pavement emanates behind me, I don’t need to look to know ~ best to keep walking, onwards, past the wolf whistlers [*smiles*]. A ten minute pause to source a Hailo cab was ridiculously futile. Onwards. I’ve started to write this blog post in my head ~ my feet are killing … but at least I still have shoes …

McDONALDS!! After a brief pit stop I’m furnished with a McNuggets meal ~ a drunken meal of champions! (McNuggets always remind me of my brother) I’ve walked seven sides of a triangle but I’m finally here, at the bus stop at the bottom of Tottenham Court Road … And then I see it, glowing orange down a side street. A. Taxi!

I wave my drink at him, he stops! “Crouch End via a cash machine” the immortal words … He sighs the longest sigh, knowing his night is now over and says “Yes” with deep regret. I profess my love and with skirt above the gusset line, I clamber into the taxi and we’re off!

Cash machine! “I’ve put my drink on the floor, don’t drive off” “what is it?” “Tango” “I’m definitely driving off, you’ve been Tango’d!” … Hilarious. It’s Fanta I remember, I say nothing.

Finally 90mins after I set off, I’m home. And Bed.

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