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...