Hating Cosiness

I find myself hating Southfields. Sure, it’s extremely pretty, serene and I have a very nice place that I’m paying next to nothing for, but I had that back in Cape Town as well. I guess, at the end of the day, I didn’t go through the drama of packing up my life and flying 10,000 kilometres to live in a slightly worse version of where I already was still surrounded by thousands of South Africans.

Having the above play on my psyche, I find myself antagonistically resenting what in actual fact is a nice, cosy, innocent English suburb. I guess that I must frighten little children and their minders by firing hostile glares and wielding the cucumbers I buy at the local fruit and veg shop as twin daggers that I’m ready to plunge into the nearest passer-by. (Note: I purposefully exclude Britain’s old people here – they require something much more appropriate and reliable than a blunt cucumber; holy water or a sharpened crucifix preferably. I’ll write about them further as they deserve their own full tirade post.)

Basically, this is a colourful way of saying that I need to get the hell out of here.

London definitely has an amazing side, but it is also a city that one has to treat with respect and tackle consciously. It is frustratingly disappointing to see so many of my South African friends spending their time lost in the South West and ignoring a city that lays claim to being the most diverse on Earth.

The heart of Southfields - where it all happens

Obviously engaging is easier said than done, otherwise I would likely be snorting cocaine off some midget Swedish stripper’s breast rather than writing this post in my cosy abode, but I came to London because I wanted to change – and to change you need to open yourself up to new things, a new perception on life (even if you don’t agree with it, you need to give it a chance – anything less is dogma) and to remove yourself from your safe comfort zone.

The South Africans I see on a regular basis don’t seem to be changing anymore than if they had gone to another city or suburb in South Africa, and I see the same in many of the English people who live here. I guess that it is a truth and a danger the world over and I am worried that I am inclined to follow suit if left to my own devices.

So I have made a plan of attack: finances permitting, I will look to move to Greenwich by the end of the year. I haven’t chosen that area out of any particular logic. Rather, I have visited it a few times and have fallen in love with it. It also seems to be quite close to our new offices, which should save me an hour’s worth of commuting every day.

I doubt it’s the best choice (I’ve been here for three months; what do I know of London?), but at least it is both a choice and a step in the right direction (or at least, away from the wrong direction).

If nothing else, it’s a change.