A Stranger In My City

I never imagined that I would ever have the guts to leave London. 'When a man has grown tired of London he has grown tired of life' said Samuel Johnson. Not so in my experience, exactly the reverse. But this post is not setting out to relay a cut and dry account of the wonders of the countryside but rather more an exploration in how separation from a place can lead to a growing appreciation of it. 

The Thames

Yesterday evening I trained down from Ely  (where I have moved to) to Kings Cross to conduct an orchestral rehearsal. What pleasure I feel at seeing the quiet rivery fenlands give way to rolling Royston hills culminating with the grand entrance into the big city. Finally I am a real Londoner arriving in its heart. I am no longer enclosed in the lofty heights of Hampstead and the extended North London corridor were the verdant heaths are so enticing that only work or obligations lure one into the city hub.

Relaxing on Hampstead Heath

Now with no London home to return to, exciting vistas open up. The river, yes the Thames where I imagine my difficult neighbour transforms into a slimy eel, living in one of its underground tributaries. Fresh joys abound: Meeting a professional chum at the Groucho Club and chatting up a man at the bar after two aperols. 'Here is my card' I thrust at him generously,  'Oh here is mine' he replies nervously. The smug pleasure of sitting in £7.50 seats in the gods to see a new ballet at Covent Garden.  

The dome of Covent Garden which I sang from in Parsifal 

A business meeting with a dynamic musician near the Guildhall School of Music where I teach composition. We find a glorious cafe by the London wall. More aperols and creative ideas flow.

The London Wall

I return home with gems: coffee beans from the Algerian coffee stores in Soho, exotic incense from China Town and gorgeous cheeses served by sexy men at Neals Yard. London is now my city and yet I walk in it as a stranger. It is no longer my own, instead I am free of ties to go where I want. In a Proustian way I romantically ponder on past friendships, the temple at Neasden, my Masonic friends, the swimming ponds at Highgate. 

The Mandir at Neasden

We sold up in Mill Hill only two years ago, just before the pandemic. Sometimes I miss our little ex-council house with its sweet garden which I created from a mud yard. But mostly I miss my parents who sadly are long gone.

Our garden at 42 Blundell Road

Returning to our little cottage in Ely which backs onto the cathedral park, I feel excitement. It takes no longer to get there than from central London to Mill Hill. I use the train journey to work on my scores. Ely is a mini-city furnished with an amazing market, cathedral and music. The octagon tower of the Cathedral beams hope every night lit up with Ukranian colours. The 4 minute walk to this iconic building still takes my breath away.

Cathedral view from The Almonry 

The Walled Garden at Ely