Naaaay-bers, Everybody Needs Good Naaaaybeeers...

Mmm. How typical is that? I start a blog about loving yet hating London, and what happens? A decidedly uneventful weekend. Having said that, the weekend was spent hiding out in the shoe-box. Naturally, living in London means you pay an extortionate amount of money for a broom cupboard. I recently upgraded to a cupboard with a roof terrace, which is more exciting than words - you have to have lived in London to appreciate the novelty of being able to wander around outside in your dressing gown without the police being called! It also gives me the opportunity to jump on the eco-frugal bandwagon and grow my own vegetables. Sadly I forgot I had an uncanny ability to kill even the most hardy of desert cacti when I made this decision, but am pleased to report that so far I’ve had about ten strawberries (two of which I have eaten), seven tomatoes (all green but I live in hope) and, most excitingly, my pepper plants are beginning to bear fruit (or, erm, veg anyway)!
As I type the other common downer of living in London rises its ugly head: Noisy Neighbours. Not being an eccentric millionaire, my shoe-box is not of the detached variety and we are sandwiched between two others. The neighbours below us are as quiet as the mice which no doubt inhabit nearby, but the ones above…
I like to think I am quite a tolerant person. I understand that they don’t mean to be noisy, they just aren’t particularly light footed. And when I went upstairs to ask them to turn their music down, they did. Him Indoors, however, is a little less patient. I have become accustomed to the constant noise that rumbles on in the background and hardly notice even the screech of sirens that fly by our window several times a day. Him Indoors, however, has not adjusted to life in the city quite as easily. He moved here three years ago and still hasn’t accepted the fact that you can’t expect to wake up to the sound of birdsong when you live within spitting distance of both the Emirates Stadium and the A1. Several times a night he will grumble and huff, hunched over his X Box controller.
“The fairy elephant is in I see,” he mutters, glaring at the ceiling from under his furrowed brow. And yes, he has a point. But, you know what? You have to take the rough with the smooth in this town. London is a mixing pot of people from different backgrounds, different cultures, with different priorities and values. We have to accept our neighbours flaws (to a degree - drug dealing from the bedroom window might be pushing it) and, well, suck it up. Otherwise, if the heat gets too much, the pot will blow its lid off and the stew will end up dripping off the ceiling. And, even if it's not exactly to my taste, I’ll happily eat my share rather than turn my nose up at it and cause the chef offence.
Without wishing to overstretch the metaphor, even if the main course isn’t to your liking, the dessert might make up for it! And, hey, there’s always breakfast…