It's little wonder that it's often been used as an unnamed character in some of the most reknowned romantic novels of our time, or, that its scenery is used as a backdrop in the majority of our best loved rom-coms.
When in the city, I usually try to come back every few weeks or so; like an old friend promising the most warming, and comforting of hugs, it has provided me with a refuge at many difficult times: break ups with boyfriends; break downs of relationships; a place of rest and recovery, or somewhere to simply gather my thoughts, and recharge my batteries.
Being here never ceases to have an overwhelming power over my senses - having been home to most of my memories (sad, and happy), over the years. With little imagination on my part, it also has the ability to transport me into any number of Jane Austen's novels: countless times has a solemn, white-shirted Darcy rescued me, as I've laid on my back in a corn field, watching clouds float by.
In the winter, the countryside allows me to revel in isolation; urgency loses itself to calm. Far removed from the endless whir of the city, the mind surrenders its relentless, racing thoughts. With no distractions repressing the senses, desire and pleasure become paramount - well they do for me, at any rate. It houses many sweet fantasies for me - I don't care what anyone says; on an unforgiving cold day, there is nothing sweeter than curling underneath a blanket with someone you love next to a roaring log fire in the country; red wine, mellow music, a gripping read and sheepskin rug also help to complete this argument. There is no other romantic setting that could accommodate such a heavenly dream; a cold, uninviting flat in London on a freezing night, quite frankly, just wouldn't cut it.
I believe it to be a myth that the capital is a the sole bedrock of sexual activity: most of the men I've met in London are usually so wrapped up in work, meetings, conferences, travelling and social lives, that they don't actually have enough time to think about sex, let alone participate in it.
The last man I was seeing in London (more about him to come) was so ridiculously busy working, and travelling, that when it came to arranging to see one another, he had to actually check his 'schedule'; I wouldn't rule out that he didn't include 'sleeping with girlfriend' as an activity on his to-do list. Yet, the night we spent together away from the city couldn't have been more perfect. I managed to get him to relax to such a degree, that he chose not to answer an urgent call from America: a conference call he'd been waiting on for over a week.
It comes as no surprise to me that over worked city boys, seek the country for a dirty weekend.
The man I talk about is the one I previously mentioned as lovely, and near to perfect: for arguments sake, let's call him F1.
F1 met me at an interesting time: an unlucky culmination of events meant that my world wasn't a hugely inviting picture at the time; getting into a relationship was the last thing on my mind. In fact, I had turned down numerous dates, due to the fact I knew it wouldn't be a good idea to subject myself to the possibility of further upset.
But then came along F1, who seemed to be very interested in me; relentlessly interested in me in fact. Very early on, I told him that I wasn't looking to get into anything, and that things were less than perfect, but the thing was; the boy wasn't going to give up.
He asked, and asked, and then, asked again to take me out (every day for about four weeks), only every time I declined, he didn't give up. He told me he was just what I needed, and that he would look after me.
After a while, I eventually became exhausted by his efforts (maybe that was his plan) and surrendered to at least speaking to him on the phone, with 'no pressure'. After some initial hesitation on my part, we began to speak most days. Cutting a very long story short: we got together very quickly, and made each other happy for a while, until things started to fall apart, and we finished. Feeling like we were finishing, I rang him towards the end, and had it out with him. "Look, this doesn't have to be over", he said. "I just can't do full-on at the moment, I travel so much. But, look, you're funny, and, such a gorgeous girl, and well, the sex was amazing. I come to where you are sometimes, and look whenever you come to London let me know and we can see one another?"
Bastard.
"No, thanks. I'm coming to London sometime next week, so when I do, I'll text you and you can give me my stuff back."
And that was how it ended. All very fast, all very intense, and all quite nastily. I'd never ended anything so badly with anyone before, but then, I hadn't felt that strongly about someone since Ex-boy.
A few months after the dust settled, we began speaking again. Few texts and e-mails here and there. Since then, we have have both moved on to other people: he has been with a girlfriend for, well, it must be over six months; and I have been into other men ; but we haven't really, ever truly left each other alone. That was, until I deleted his phone number from my phone two days ago.
We'd been texting on and off every couple of weeks for a few months. We missed each other we said. He wanted to sleep with me, he said. Couldn't I stay in London for a night to be with him, he asked. You should be single, I said.
Anyway, last Friday, I finally reached my limit. Muck me around once, shame on you. Muck me around twice, shame on me. Suffice to say, he annoyed me enough to make me delete his numbers from my phone.
I can't work out if me missing him, has ever been based on the fact that I ever really have, or that I just have that romantic notion due to the fact he was very good in bed. And, it would seem vice versa. Speaking to him on Friday night, however, I got the impression that, that was the sole reason he was wanting to see me, and well that's just not good enough for me anymore.
I do not want to be speaking to anyone like that while they're involved. Karma can be such a bitch, and I know it would only come back and bite me in my arse if I did get involved.
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