Entering into the abyss…the 020 area code that regurgitates its own set of rules designed to illustrate how far from cool the rest of the nation are…London to a newbie…a young woman so heavily shrouded in the safe confines of rural britain…is a city that opens the gate to a long and winding road of high flying frivolity with the odd magnum of champagne thrown into the mix.
I entered this world craving success and fulfilment that extended further than a prestigious home made lasagne and pro-creation…that surpassed the expectations of the pessimistic onlooker…I wanted to live a life where my existence didn’t resemble a savage climb towards the unreachable breadline, were 132.9p petrol didn’t leave me perspiring in rage, just mere irritation and Ribena was a regular purchase and not merely a luxury only ever bought in bulk when Asda, Tesco's or Sainsbury's decided to knock off a couple of quid on account of over ordering.
However, despite the inner thirst for success that pulses through the blood in my veins, I have found, through observation, experience and the use of the following equation:
Tits + ass + lip gloss + laughing at jokes that are not funny + adhering to the immediate assumption that if you are female and your lungs encounter the big smoke on a day to day basis, you must be either a nanny, in fashion or married to a banker/stock broker and the proud part owner of a Range Rover despite your daily milage count being roughly 4 miles….
…the perception of intelligence people have of you is particularly unimpressive. Long winded I know, but these are the ramblings of an irritated Londoner.
London's inhabitants immediately deduce me as the new girl set to endeavour a rapid metamorphosis from the black girl next door (yes, I am black and this articulate ra ra raaa)…to emerging from a cocaine coated chrysalis and becoming the west end girl in desperate need of a nicotine patch and a hairbrush.
The perception of intelligence rapidly shrivels with ever meet and greet, like the slimy epidermis of a ravenous slug after the greedy bugger put too much salt on his chips.
It's come to the point where people I have met believe me to be so simple, if I express the tiniest essence of knowledge regarding anything that isn't screened repeatedly on the Home channel, a glint of shock, surprise and awe appears in the face of said audience for just a second before being encased in a gloomy syrup of patronisation and gold stars.
I've taken to throwing in random and inaccurate percentage statistics into conversations to enhance the perception of intelligence people have of me…drawing hilarity from the people who will happily accept the 'fact' that "if left to their own devices, 78% of people chose to use Android system over IOS but were swayed as a result of a pushy sales pitch from network providers"
Total bollocks…utter drivel…but when said with some conviction and confidence..chowed down like a Cadburys Curly Wurly.
Don't get me wrong I adore this city and all of the delights it offers…but the new girl about town gets pretty tired of being perceived as somebody who's IQ and shoe size are comparable…
Oh well, flick of the hair, G-string on show, push up bra pumped up like a set of Goodyear's and I'm set….now can somebody get me a club promoter boyfriend and point me in the direction of Tara Palmer Tomkinson…I'm going places.