C'est ce que j'aime à propos de Londres

In translation, this is what I love about London, an endless list of qualities my city has which I've whittled down to a few favourites.

Ok, so. I'm from Lincoln, England. A small city which is about as diverse as Victoria Beckhams' facial expressions. Londres, however, has a ridiculously vibrant demographic make up, it's well proper steeped in culture and stuff. When I first moved here at the end of February 2011, I had my BBC job as well as an extra evening job, working in one of Jamie Oliver's Italian restaurants. Of all the eighty-or-so staff there, I'd say a quarter were English. Working there, I learnt truckloads about Norway, Slovakia, Poland, Italy, Hungary, France, Indonesia... I could go on but I'm bored of naming countries.

Ey, I tell you what else, too -I've been re-learning my GCSE French for the last few weeks so that I can confidently converse with foreign visitors to Television Centre in other languages! I know! I inflicted my education in foreign jibber-jabber on the unsuspecting tourists today, in fact. I said: "Quand Madonna visite le ...building, elle demande une tres grande portrait ...of du pape dans le ...dressing room..."

Now a) yes, I know there are a few errors there, but cut me some slack, I never claimed I was Coco ruddy Chanel (only French person I could think of) ... (je suis desole, to any French readers) plus, I said the words 'building' and 'dressing room' with a French accent anyway. And b) Yes, Madonna really did ask for a lifesize portrait of the pope on her Rider when she visited us. Idiot.

Love of London no.1: London makes me want to travel.

Another thing I love about London -something which I think is often overlooked -is its inner city charm. Like... ok, for example, walking from the bus to the tube station last week on my way to work, I had to do a sudden panicky hop to avoid stepping in ...a nappy which was in the middle of the street. See? Inner shi-, sorry, city charm. Then there’s the city foxes which have decided they're invincible; I swear to God they're ridiculously bold and wonder the streets with more attitude than a tagged convict.

Love of London no.2: London is your typical slightly-gross capital city.

I love how packed the coffee-fragranced tube is every morning, discarded Metro newspapers everywhere accompanied by my daily anticipation to see who'll get stuck in the doors today. It’s brilliantly satisfying to watch. Granted, it’s also slightly cruel. Last week was the best I've seen so far; a tiny female Chinese tourist, back-pack on, ran full pelt towards the closing doors. Logic would tell her to maybe not run towards a rapidly narrowing gap, but apparently she couldn't wait; London's tourist attractions needed her now. She made it through the doors ...but her back-pack didn't. It was brilliant because she was so teeny, there was nothing she could do apart from scrunch up her tiny face and make these weird whiney noises which, quite frankly, sounded like some kind of mating call. Two businessmen had to work as a team to yank her out and as the doors snapped shut, her relief was expressed with another weird noise which sounded like a balloon being deflated. Or maybe a snake having an orgasm. I imagine.

Love of London no.3: London tourists –they’re everywhere!

And lastly, I love the spontaneity of London weekends. Everything's here so you can do anything –London really is your Oyster card. A few weeks ago, my boyfriend Joe and I decided to take it easy and go chill in Hyde Park for the day. Ok, I had no money and we were hanging. We stumbled across a packed park, full of yob- ...I mean, people... enjoying a free UEFA football festival which included an endless bar with a beer elevator (beers are lowered down to you from the twelve foot high bar. Unnecessary genius.), it also included a giant football for endless innuendos, loads of matches to watch and -more importantly –some ruddy sunshine!!! Another weekend involved going to the Southbank where there's a bar boat called Tattershall Castle (weird, seeing as in Lincolnshire there's a Tattershall castle... which is an actual castle. Not a boat claiming to be a castle) and Joe and I sat and drank Jack Daniels and watched the sky get darker and the London Eye get brighter. It was a gorgeous moment until Joe asked me how many dead bodies I thought there was in the Thames. Plausible question ...I guess. Or there's the day we went to Camden Town and had dodgy-as-hell food from the food market and just walked round, seeing the sights and avoiding the tattoo shops (Joe was tempted. I was not.). The Royal Wedding day was pretty amazing -Hyde Park being the setting again. We arrived in style (ie, late) and stole a flag off a tourist, stocked ourselves up with cider and pretended to be avid royalists whilst soaking up the atmosphere -a day I'll never forget. Just last week, I went to see Fleet Foxes play an intimate gig for Radio 2 as hosted by Jo Whiley –what an incredible band. So bloody talented! One band member played about eight instruments! In fact, sitting there surrounded by such musical wizardry, I felt glad that I’ve been deepening my bilingual...ness by re-learning my French, which made me feel less talentless. During a rapture of applause, I almost shouted ‘Tres bon! Encore!’ but thought better of it. I didn’t want to show off.

Love of London no.4: London lifestyle.

So yeah. In summary I fecking love it here. I could go on about my loves, but these are the summaries. Nappy-filled streets, ridiculous displays of tourism, foxes of the man-eating variety, foxes of the fleet instrument-playing variety and corpses in the Thames. What can I say, this is London.

Lets lay some foundations

Well, soon I'll have been a Landanah for three entire months. Good god, where has the time gone?!

...Actually, I'm saying that because I felt I should. In actual fact it feels like I've been here for fecking ages.

24 years old and I've been saying for the past four years 'I'd love to live in London', blah blah blah. Never thought I'd actually do it, did I? Had I have been writing this three days ago, I would've typed something along the lines of 'what an utter douche-bag I am...' as my next sentance, but actually, today's been a damned good day.

The mathematical ratio of positive days to not-so-perky days is probably about four to one at the moment I'd say. Four good days that is. Luckily, I have some imperitive tools to help one out which I'd recommend to anyone looking to move to London. These are as follows.

A) Wicked people. I'm surrounded by 'em. Joey, my boyfriend is fairly amazing on a pretty gargantuan scale. Hannah, my best friend; the reason I'm here (it's her fault, the bitch), is awesome also. Family. Although non have yet been to visit. I'd say in the three months (almost. Not that I'm counting) that I've lived here, Joe's probably visited ten times or so. I can't stop the boy, what can I say, I'd visit me if I was my boyfriend, I'm bloody adorable. Hannah's been down too, though just twice because she's saving up to go help others around the world, though that's her noble way of disguising the fact that she's 'doing one' so she can go get all cultured. My brother, on the other hand, openly admits he hates London and thinks 'it's shit'. Apparently, you can't go anywhere 'without having to take fourteen tubes'. He demonstrates said theory by asking on a regular basis 'how many tubes does it take to buy a pint of milk?' or '...how many tubes does it take to take out your rubbish?' My parents are due down soon too, though they wait until they have enough Tesco points to do it on the cheap. I'm wondering if this means the bundle they'll save, they'll re-invest in presents for me. I can't really use the whole 'to celebrate my new life!' line, anymore, can I? Three months?? (Well, not quite.)

B) A ruddy banging taste in music. Something which cannot be taught, unfortunately. It's something I was born with. So musically inclined am I, that my grandma remarked, upon seeing my scan picture, 'Look at those hands, they're pianists hands...'. True story. Now, ok. Fair enough, I can barely play the triangle and I'm not bad at wacking out 'River Deep, Mountain High' on Karaoke like I did one drunken, blurry night in Edinburgh a few years ago, but I really think music has been instilled in me like some kind of cosmic force. If I'm in a shitty mood, I'll blast up the Kings of Leon to ear-perforatingly-loud levels and all will blow over. If I feel reflective, The Stone Roses are winners. If I'm feeling summery, a mash-up Ministry album gets me excited for that one day when I'll eventually get to Ibiza and if I feel sad, Coldplay cheers me up -a band I find amazingly inspiring and beautiful. NOT a 'Dad band' like I hear a lot. (...My Dad loves Coldplay. Jeez Dad.) There's something I've realised though, there's definitely a musician trapped inside me. Not a euphemism, thanks. I mean that since moving here, I've noticed that I cannot listen to music I love without tapping or drumming or nodding or shaking my foot or something. I actually can't. I've tried. This geezer was watching me on the tube earlier today, fascinated by my one-woman body-band I had going on; foot tapping, fingers playing weird rhythms which I can somehow keep whilst doing other rhythms with my eyebrows or toes or bum cheeks (no, really) and so I stopped and looked out the window as we approached Bond Street -lots of distractions, oh good, I thought. No sooner had the doors slid shut again to move off, I was at it once more, nodding my head like Stevie Wonder on speed and tapping different rhythms with different hands. Maybe I'm the eighth wonder of the world. They'll call me 'Rhythm Rachel' and I'll busk. In silence. By cracking out my mental rhythms and earn millions. Maybe that can be plan B (another crackin musician).

C) A sense of determination to get through this initial period and come out the other side. Oh, I'm still doing my tools for survival in London in case you're lost. Ooh, don't get lost in London, it's a nightmare. That can be point D. But yeah. I'm here to pursue a job in the BBC and 'work my way up', so to speak. After four years of voluntary work in media around a full time degree or job, that's certainly making me want to stick this move the hell out. The thing is though, is making friends from scratch is a tricky business. I mean, for a start it's not gonna happen on public transport due to my weird ticking and fitting I do to music. And secondly, my best friends in the world are people I've known for time, there's history there. You can't get away with having a brief conversation with a stranger and then asking for their details. Believe me, I tried last week when I had a massage from a friend of a friend and after she was done rubbing me up in all the right ways, I said 'Ooh, lets stay in touch!' -Wrong crowd. Don't be overly friendly with someone you hardly know who's spent the last forty minutes caressing your oily body. Safe to say, we're not BFF's.

D) Don't get lost.

So yeahh, as Eva Cassidy once sung 'Time is a healer'. And as The Rolling Stones once sung 'Time is on my side'. And it's like the cast from The Rocky Horror Picture show once sung: 'Lets do the time warp again'.

Granted, the last example has little or no relevance. But the sentiment is there in all of them. I just need to give it some...