Cockles and winkles, love a ducks, guvnor. Yes, as you can probably tell, I'm a Londoner, born and bred. Except that my dad comes from the Mediterranean somewhere, so that's not strictly true. The main thing is, I was raised there; I had my formative years there; I'm a cosmopolitan kind of person. Then like many people, I was filled with an overwhelming urge to get the fuck out and live somewhere a bit nicer.

So three years ago, I moved to Brighton. It's not exactly giving everything up and moving to rural France and living the life, and the people are just so down to earth, it's a humbling experience and they just pull a sausage out of their pocket and a French stick out of their arse and a bottle of rouge and have lunch on the bus as if it was normal - but it was a start.

In reality, Brighton is quite similar to London, just windier and smells more of chips. But I love the sea, the pace of life is (ever so slightly) slower. Did I mention the sea? A year later, I moved a few miles along the coast, away from the city centre for a bit more peace and quiet. The beach is less crowded, fewer students and less of those Londoners messing up the place up with their coarse language and vulgar appearance. I should have a good quality of life, fresh air and nice surroundings. I plan to edge my way along the coast a bit more and live somewhere like that town out of the Popeye film. It would almost be like being on holiday all the time...

Well, it would be. The only problem I have, and it's a minor one, is that I still commute to London to work. Yes. Despite my good efforts to live the dream, I spend most of my week in London; my friends all live in London; I go out in London; I spend weekends in London; sometimes I still feel like I live in London; it's like I never left London. Nobody bothers to visit me because I, like, live sooo far away. When you live and work in London, the rest of the world doesn't exist.

So damn you London. You're a black hole. I hate you. Oh, give us a kiss then, you filthy urban slut.