Five years on

The last time I spent five years in one place was my childhood at the Bramwell ranch.

Ever since, I've been galivanting about the globe in a footloose and fancy-free way (in keeping with the title of this blog). Until now.

This week signals my five year anniversary of arriving in London town.

I own a bed, wardrobe, pension, a small mountain of clothes, several large kitchen appliances, and quarter of a sofa. That to me is the height of being 'settled'.

And of this country I now call home?

England, I now understand your jokes. I know what a Blue Peter badge is, and I've seen a BBC radio programme being recorded.

I know the best way to get back from Standsted Airport (definitely the Victoria Line), and I can nod sympathetically when someone complains about not getting into Polpo on a Tuesday evening. I roll my eyes when I have to wait more than three minutes for the next tube, and get pedestrian rage anytime I'm forced to spend a moment on Oxford Street. I know how to pronounce vitamins, data, and yoghurt, and have traded pants for trousers.

But despite the great feeling of being able to calculate your tube journey across the city in your head; or laughing knowingly at another Jimmy Savile joke; it's the people I've met over the past five years that keep me and my heart here.

And as much as I'm nomadic at heart, the longer I'm in London, the happier I am to just dig my toes in. Right here.