It is 7am and raining in Drury Lane, in the centre of Covent Garden, and the only disturbing sound is the long beeps of a truck reversing into the back of the Irish Pub. I did hear the Irish Pub sending its customers home as I was dozing off last night, but a fifth floor apartment with triple glazing is good insulation against the frantic bustling world of Central London.This is an amazing apartment for Central London, and I feel decadent and spoiled. When I came to England five years ago, I spent three weeks in a tiny b&b room with ensuite in Cambridge. It was adequate, but claustrophobic, with few options for going out. At that stage I was still in slightly missionary mode - willing to sleep anywhere. I'm well beyond that, now.
In Covent Garden there are always people on the streets, breakfast from 5am, the pubs are open and many shops stay open late even on Sunday night, and it's actually hard to insist to myself that I am going home to do some work. I often come home on the tube at 9pm having gone somewhere - Europe Westfield, Camden Passage, Brick Lane - after work. I love street food and eating it on the street from a greasy box. Vietnamese, Portuguese, unidentifiable fry ups being touted from barrows - I don't think I am walking enough to redress the balance.
The big difference between working in archives at Cambridge and the London School of Economics is boxes - Cambridge library presents you with an entire uncatalogued box that you can spend a whole day rummaging through, whereas the LSE is clean and super techno, starts at 10.30am, only gives you three little brown files at a time (which may contain next to nothing) and then you have to re order 3 items at 3 hour intervals ...basically slow beyond belief - and inefficient for researchers with time limits. If you want to go to the loo you have to pack up and return everything and exit through security. I'm sure it's great for protecting priceless letters from Malinowski and Beatrice Webb, but it means I have to work at their speed and kill a lot of time.
I have been watching British television's recent commentary on inadequate housing, seeing an elderly couple with serious health problems jammed into a damp one bedroom space with literally no where to go...no walking space within the house, no outside, the washer and dryer shoved into a kitchen no bigger than a cupboard. Two or three young families living together, kids sleeping on the lounge floor. Rents are high, parking impossible, public transport very expensive, and the pace of life requires strong legs and high energy. There is no comparison between the way I can live here for a few weeks on a research budget, and the way ordinary people cope. Probably little comparison between living on a basic wage in Australia, and here, just because of the comparative cost of living. Brexit is making it daily more costly.
The news is full of Brexit: the Brexiteers, the Remainateers, the Moanateers. In my five minutes of research among the locals I found the divide was a generational one, and perhaps a geographic one. Young Londoners see Europe as the expansive, inclusive, collaborative future. They see diversity, globalization, inclusion as fait accompli, no discussion, society in the 21st Century looks like this. The older generation, and perhaps those living in more rural areas who have not been immersed in diversity, may have been driven by fears of a less-British isle, searching for former greatness. I am sure this is an oversimplification, but only yesterday Boris Johnson's previously anti Brexit stance was made public, and yet he was seen as a prime mover out of Europe...and the new PM said one of the big questions was how long Boris could stay on message. The details of how to get out, and the consequences of getting out, are being discovered almost daily - so I wonder if anyone had enough information to actually make a clear sighted decision.
I love London although I am pleased I do not have to live here in old age. I love the fact that people talk to strangers spontaneously, there is always a friendly fellow at the gate of the tube who will give you information; you pay thirty pence to use a toilet that is actually cleaned throughout the day by a woman standing at the ready in pink rubber gloves; there is always a recorded voice of warning - mind the gap, doors closing, this is the Piccadilly Line to.... People queue up and I always accidentally push in - not recognising a queue - and they smile. I haven't experienced the anger and angst on the streets here that exists elsewhere - not so much road rage - I deserved some when I started to go the wrong way up a one way street, but people were patient. Very unAustralian. I lived here when I was a child and again in my early twenties, but there are times and seasons in life, and this season of being in London for me only works in good accommodation, taxis when my knees and hips say so, hire cars and coach tours - the awful horror of getting older, pacing oneself.
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