Stranded Londoner In London
I write this from the window seat of my Airbnb which occupies the ground floor of a very pretty, leafy, white terraced townhoused street in Kensington. The ceilings have the original molding which has been lovingly restored (for optimal rental appeal), original floorboards creak beneath my feet and the wall paneling painted a deeper version of duck egg blue. I’ve even got a little kitchen which I haven’t really used and I spend most of my time sat at the unvarnished, modern wooden table next to the window seat with the plush cushions propping me up and giving me something to lean on. The window itself is huge, maybe 8 feet high and at least as wide; this little area is why I booked the place — at the time it seemed like the perfect place to have a coffee and watch the world go by. As it happens, I currently have a cup of coffee in front of me that I’ve accidentally let go cold as I try and decide at what time I should take my one walk of the day to go outside.
Because, at any other point in my life, this would have been the perfect place to be however this is London on lockdown and it is both the perfect place to be but also 4,471 miles from home.
See, I’m a born and bred Londoner and believe that there is nowhere quite like this fair city; when the sun is shining (whatever the season) something about it makes me smile and feel like there’s nowhere I’d rather be…..today the sun is shining and I’m confused because it still makes me smile but I’m smiling on my own and I’ll have to do so until I can get back to my life in Dubai which at this point, could still be weeks away.
Dubai has been my home for over 9 years; I moved in my 20’s looking for an adventure and some career opportunities that paid better, and what I’ve found is exactly that plus friends for a life (many of whom have since left), I launched my own start up, forged a successful career in brand and creative strategy as well as adopting a rescue dog called Bear and finding my husband.
I’m here in London alone for what was supposed to be 8 days seeing friends and family while soaking up the type of fun, love and eccentricity that London does best. That was the plan, doesn’t it sound marvelous; the perfect antidote to 2019, the year I had strongly pegged as my most difficult yet.
Shouldn’t have said that….
Another thing to know about me is that I’m an only child and like most of us, I enjoy my own company a lot, often craving a few days where I can just be — solo holidays are usually just the ticket.
For these reasons, I basked in the first few days of my trip when my plans to go out and about and all around were completely scuppered; I was staying in a hotel just down the road from here (Shout out to the Radisson Blu Edwardian Vanderbilt in Kensington) and it was NICE so I did what anyone in a NICE hotel, all alone with time to spare did; I mostly sat around in my fluffy robe watching awful yet nostalgic British TV eating snacks, strolled the neighbourhood to locate the best flat white, getting more snacks and red wine…..so that I could dance around in my underwear, glass in hand to a spotify playlist that I’d rather not admit to.
At this moment, I am 8 days into my trip and 3 days into a heightened reality of solo living; I’m still making the most of the silence, watching the odd person walk by the window for their chosen outing time of the day, relishing in the snacks that I always claim to miss, taking the time to do the things that I always wish I had more time to do…..but even when I’m smiling at the London sunshine, or enjoying my window seat and my epic snacks, there’s always an underlying a sense of foreboding lingering in the background, a dulled anxiety that every so often reminds me that while I’m doing my utmost to make the best of an awful situation, I’m still stranded and alone, indefinitely.
