Arriving in London, I am instantly enamored by it all. Weighted down with 40kgs worth of luggage, I feel light and free – I could live here… Take the underground everywhere, suck up the rain like a dried sponge. I’m standing on a train bound for Charing Cross Station and I notice a man discretely sketching me. I feel I have a responsibility to allow him to keep up his secret artistry, so I never make eye contact. I may have even stood more still so as not to disturb. Is that odd?

In a place so steeped in history I am hard pressed not to stay forever and spend a lifetime crawling its parks, its pubs, its charming dirty/cleanliness.