My London – Hannah McDermott

500 word Love Letter

Dear Southwark

I miss you. I miss the breathtaking views whenever I’d see the river and bear witness to the history all around me. But more than that I miss the roasted nuts that would drift through the air beckoning everyone around to come enjoy a bite. 

I miss the Thursday tradition of trips to Mercato metropolitano – humming and hawing over what to choose before inevitably picking the usual. Wolfing everything down; laughing all the while with friends before finishing the night with the sweet crunchy churros and their smooth rich pistachio dip. Gossiping on the 63 home with full bellies and fuller hearts as we recount the events of the past week and our big big hopes for the future. 

I miss walking through the town centre. Peeking into small corners of the world and meeting characters so exaggerated we wouldn’t be believed by anyone who wasn’t present to encounter the characters themselves. The skater shops with the ridiculously loud music and the quiet shy coffee shops with soft lighting and gentle conversation. I miss walks through the park where I’d poke prod and pester until everyone finally relented and came with me to ride the swings. I miss retiring home – swearing that this time we’d get an early night before inevitably falling into late night kitchen conversations. I miss hearing the classic request for a snack trip – running to grab shoes and a coat before running through the all too familiar aisles of ‘rakhs city’ (still a hysterically funny joke if you ask me). I miss picking out my snacks under the forever wise advice of Evie “something sweet, something savoury, something smooth and soft, something hard and crunchy” I miss the thrill of a night out, letting loose in clubs and dancing under the library archway or anywhere we could find and I miss the relief of the chicken shop trip that always followed. I miss the morning walks through orange, red, green gardens. Feeling the sun on my face and gulping as much of the fresh air as I could before settling into a cafe and working on assignments. I miss the day we went to the Tate modern – the wonder and awe that I felt when I’d stand before the Cildo Meireles’ Babel. I miss the empathy I’d feel surrounded by art and the stories of different creatives. I miss the debates and discussions I’d have with friends and the all consuming passion I’d feel for hours following a visit – theorising and developing ideas about this or that. 

I miss walking through archwood house, passing the games room where I’ve spent countless nights and the common room with countless memories. I miss waiting for the elevator and making my way to the second floor. I miss the crowded kitchen with rickety tables and a TV far too luxurious for its surroundings. I miss knowing the intricacies of an olive green couch and knowing there’d always be a space for me. I miss home.