Why you should stay in London

The other day I was at a party in Notlondon and a woman I barely know – let’s call her Carol – came up to me to inflict some of her opinions on me: “Are you still living in London?” she began innocently, like any normal, decent person making small talk about where you live. “Oh I don’t know how you can live there,” she said, “I can’t stand it. Chris and I went there for an exhibition in July, it was hell – so many people.” I get this a lot. Why, I ask you, do people feel they have the right to slag off the place I live like in such a brazen fashion? How would she have felt if I’d said “Are you still growing that monobrow? Oh I don’t know how you can live with such an awful monobrow. I can’t stand monobrows. I had to look at a person with a monobrow like yours once, it was hell – so much eyebrow.” I didn’t say that. I also didn’t say that obviously the reason she went to London to see that exhibition is because there are no exhibitions in Little Hufferingham, or wherever the frig she lives. Because there’s nothing in the countryside except walks and pubs. Literally all you can do is walk and get pissed. And anyway, you can do both of those things in London. I know because I do them all the time.

Still, I understand that London is not for everyone. Some people like to lead boring lives; that’s fine. But what really worries me is the number of my friends who, now we’re all reaching A Certain Age, tell me ominously, “Yeah, I love living in London for now but I wouldn’t want to bring kids up here.” This is normally accepted as a given. Yes, they lived in London, they had a life, but then they had kids. Obviously you can’t raise kids in London. I mean if by some miracle they evade the armies of paedophiles lurking round every corner and don’t get run over by all the traffic they’ll inevitably turn out like Superhands from Peepshow, they’ll be wild-eyed crack addicts with no morals and they won’t know what flowers look like. There seems to be a widespread unspoken acceptance that having children in London is, if not immoral, somehow sort of irresponsible. Respectfully, I would like to argue that this is rhubarb. And in order to prevent all of my friends from leaving London and having babies in Little Hufferingham, I would like to explain why.

The other day I was cycling home, minding my own business, when, I shit you not, three hyenas came out of nowhere and started yelping at me. Or whatever it is hyenas do. Laughing maybe. Anyway, they were hyenas. Frigging hyenas! In London. I realise you must be wondering how the presence of dangerous wild animals is supposed to support my argument that London is a good place to raise children. Stay with me here. I was of course cycling along Regents Canal, and was passing London Zoo at the time. The aforementioned hyenas were behind the fence so this was not perhaps as surreal or as dangerous as I may have initially implied. But it was still pretty surreal from where I was pedalling. On closer investigation it became apparent that the handlers had just sent half a carcass down a zip line and the hyenas were jumping up to snatch chunks off it. What really surprised me was how little attention everyone else passing by paid to this extraordinary spectacle. I suppose this is probably something you can see every day if you walk past the wild dogs enclosure at London Zoo. But for me it was a pretty surprising experience. (Naturally I quickly updated my Facebook status). And that’s the thing about London: there’s always something going on.

People accuse the BBC and other broadcasters of being Londoncentric, but there’s good reason for that: because everything interesting happens in London! Want to see a film premiere? Come to London. Want to watch Parliament in session? Come to London. Want to see the latest Andrew Lloyd Webber musical? Get a new personality.

Now children, famously, need constant stimulation. They get bored very easily. The countryside is patently unsuitable for this purpose. They don’t even have 3G. Every now and then a survey will come out by the Countryside United National Trustkeepers or whoever about how 1 in 3 children think steaks grow on trees. Obviously it’s a shame that children don’t know steaks grow in supermarkets, but living somewhere really dull seems to me a high price to pay in order to teach a child what a cow looks like. Anyway, there’s always Hackney City Farm – and they do nice quiches. What children need, if you ask me, is hyenas, and museums and galleries and theatres and cinemas and Primarks the size of Disneyland. This is how they will really learn about the world and all the confusing, wonderful, bizarre things that make it so interesting. Not by sitting in a field with no ethnic minorities and some cows.

And it’s not just interesting things that will nurture their soft little minds, but interesting people. It's not an original sentiment to say that London attracts all manner of interesting folk. Disraeli said “London is a roost for every type of bird” (they didn’t have hyenas in themdays or he might have updated his metaphor) and everyone knows that Samuel Johnson quote… quotation… whatevs… about all of life being here (though not a lot of people know the sentence that preceded it: “You find no man, at all intellectual, who is willing to leave London.” Well said, Johnson). The problem with the countryside is that it’s crammed full of people like Carol. That’s fine for people like Carol; they like people like Carol, but what if you want to meet interesting people?

Ok, I’m being a bit facetious (facetious, moi?!) Obviously there are a few interesting people outside London. A few. And if you like it wherever you live, good for you. It helps stop London getting overcrowded. But if you like London but feel that for some reason you probably ought to move before having kids, I ask you to think very carefully. You’ll be leaving behind museums, and Primark, and hyenas… and most importantly you’ll be leaving behind ME! And then my life will be almost as boring as if I’d gone to live in the countryside, with Carol. Spare me this fate! Stay in London! Or just don’t have children. But that, friends, is a whole other blog post…