London is my
home, I have always loved London. Every time
I see pictures or hear about London in the news I get pangs of homesickness. I
feel safe and at ease in the busy streets and amongst the loud noises and
chaos.
Out of my
bedroom window I could see a small concrete garden with the shed in the corner,
the window smashed where a branch hit it one windy night. The corner of the roof flapping in the wind. When
the aeroplanes flew into the airport the flight path was so close to our house,
the whole place shook. Every morning at 7:00am the American Airways flight
would wake us all up. I knew then that it was time to wake up and get my
uniform on - a blue polo shirt with the Honeywell Primary School emblem on the
pocket. The next plane at 8.15 would tell me that it was time to leave for
school.
Dad and I
would step out of our house and bang the big blue front door behind us. Rows of
Victorian terraced houses lined our street. Some were really scruffy with
blackened bricks from the smog and dustbins strewn untidily outside. Others were much neater with pretty hedges
and shiny front doors. We used to run across
the park scattering the pigeons and dodging the dog poo and arrive at Clapham
Junction train station along with hundreds of other school children, businessmen
and women. We jumped on the overland train to Victoria, puffing and panting as
the doors closed quickly behind us. Dad and I used to name all the posh cars
that drove by. I would always look out for the Aston Martin DB9, that I saw once
but never saw again.
