Seriously

Jaffa cakes are good. They are one of those things that you find a little strange: a sponge cake covered in dark chocolate with a little smear of orange jelly inbetween. But somehow the texture of sponge cake is like a squishy vanilla wafer. The dark chocolate is a fine choice. The jelly is a little odd, but gives just the perfect bit of flavor. Till you realize it's just a delightful little biscuit. Just like Digestives and HobNobs.

But now I'm missing London. That big, beautiful, turns-your-snot-black city. With its take-out Indian and tube stops around the corner. Double decker red bus stops down the street from organic cafes. Overhearing little French children in their uniforms on the underground. Adorned pastries that are secretly put on the tab of a friendly Scot. Ewan McGregor running past me inbetween shows in Piccadilly Circus. Market shopping. Cheap-sequined Indian items after watching singing, dancing, extended music video- Bollywood films. Being packed onto the train with attractively dressed people on their way home from work. Getting lost in Chelsea Finding a second home and a mother to doctor us with good food and warm beds. Sitting on the roofs of buildings. Sneaking onto locked balconies. Quality time on bus rides with baby bull terriers and furniture store owners. Walks to the National Film Theatre for James Dean movies. All African wards in the shady part of town. Record stores and used book sales on the sidewalk. Men with no legs rolling on carts to hit on us on park benches by the Thames. Giggling while reading Bridget Jones in public places. Watching, jaw-dropped at the ridiculously skinny Jim Broadbent in bellbottoms and long-haired wig. Stuffing my face with biscuits. Walking and walking till I could walk no further. Buying exotic fruit and cheese. Spending ridiculous amounts of money on things and feeling like it was no matter, the currency was imaginary. Midnight bus rides with the lit city, while hugging my bag at my side. Confidence on my own as I walked down the streets of a city that fulfilled me. City-walkers hurrying by with thoughts of their cats, watering the plants, the big fashion expo, meeting friends at the pub. Never sleeping, traffic always moving, lights in my barred window. Freedom in confinement.

Billie Holiday - Easy to Love