My love affair with London - Is it time for a break up?

Benedict Cumberbatch has asked us to write a love letter to London in the hopes of adding his favourites to the ‘Letters Live’ lineup. Thinking this would be easy I sprang to my computer ready to delve deep into my passion for the streets I’ve dedicated so much time getting to know. Surprisingly this wasn’t the case. I could list lots of things I love about London, but I couldn’t actually get myself to write a love letter to London itself. After careful consideration I’ve reached the conclusion that London for me is less a love match and more a toxic ‘situationship’ that I’ve been pinning over for far too many years. It’s the relationship that appears perfect on a night out but fails to be there the next morning when you need it most, and despite knowing all this, I’ve kept returning for more, only to be left depleted both emotionally and financially.

I’m 23 and having just left university I’m being belittled by the London job market, applying for so many jobs I’m actually being rejected by companies I’d forgotten I’d applied to. But this is not the beginning of my relationship with London. It’s been on and off for over five years, the problem is its only now that I’m trying to make our relationship official. The first five years with London were financially supported by the same café that I’ve returned to during my university holidays. Overtime I’ve slept on different sofas and in various spare bedrooms, each providing a new pub to act as my local and a slightly different commute to my morning shift. London was my summer and Christmas fling; I never took it too seriously and never contemplated its permanence in my life. It was fun, simple, easy to leave and just as easy to return to when I wanted. It fulfilled all my needs because my needs were simple; I wanted to be shown a good time.

But with adulthood creeping up on me, my needs have become more complex. I require more than just merriment, my desires can no longer be satisfied by a routine of nights out and days spent indoors with a hangover. I want a relationship built around security and trust, routine, and longevity, one that gives back just as much as it takes. Yet somehow, I’ve found myself in a self-destructive relationship with the city, one that cannot be sustained from the perspective of neither my body nor my bank account.

I’d like to say, ‘it’s not you it’s me’, but that’s just not the case. I blame London or actually I blame the London I created in my head. At school I pictured myself like Bridget Jones living in a city so buzzing with life, where jobs and dates come about so unpredictably while evenings with friends can always be counted on. But the truth is this London that I’ve tried desperately to bond with doesn’t actually exist or at least it did but not anymore. Whether you blame the economy or the rise of AI, the job market is undoubtably depleted and so is our dating pool. Even if you do find a job the difficulty of finding an affordable place to live will make you want to quit and recoil back into your childhood bedroom and if you miraculously manage to jump those hurdles your then faced with the dilemma of how to maximise on your youth while avoiding maxing out your overdraft. Transport, accommodation, food, bills, and more. Paying for the necessities of life in London prevent those of us in our twenties from actually living in our twenties. We’re told to build a career but don’t forget to enjoy being young, rise up the ladder but not so fast that you miss out on making silly mistakes and hopefully fall in love. When the price of a tube fare and a drink is more than supper, socialising is most often sacrificed for the sake of saving, a decision that for some reason leaves me feeling more foolish than responsible. My problem is simple, I fell for London because I believed that’s where my youth would be best spent, but instead I’m left spending everything I’ve got on London leaving my youth bankrupt.

Realising my relationship with London has been based off lies, I’ve begun questioning whether it’s time for us to break up. I know many my age who have given up on the dream that London will become their life partner, finding instead great loves in new cities or even new countries. But for some reason I’m just not ready to let it go. Like many toxic relationships the moments I’ve spent with London, amongst all its complexities, have been some of the greatest moments of my life, and it seems irrational to ditch the romance now after all the time I’ve already invested. Call it being naïve, but I still believe with a bit a hard work and persistence that I can turn London into something I can truly love, and something that will love me back. And when I do, I’ll write London a love letter and I’ll send it to Benedict Cumberbatch.