On being a northerner abroad

It's been eighteen months since I decided to accept a job in London, moving away from Newcastle after living, working and studying in the north east for about ten years.  Before that, I spent much of my childhood in Bradford and I'm definitely a Yorkshireman, even though I've always had a slightly nomadic life after being born in Australia.

It's still a bit strange, truth be told.  For most of my time growing up, London was a place we went to twice a year and it was a big exciting day out.  No sleep the night before- too excited- and then the first train south in the morning.  I'd usually be spark out on the late train back, with dad enjoying his beer from the buffet car.  It's weird to be working in that city I always came to as a kid.  It was even weirder when I lived in London too, although now I'm living out in the Home Counties it's a bit different.

There are things about London that I love.  Decent shops and decent coffee for one thing.  The view of the river from Waterloo bridge, and from the south bank, for another.

Swimming on Hampstead Heath is something I'd tell anyone to try once (though maybe not in winter, like some weirdoes do).  Everyone should go up Parliament Hill once

There's obviously all the good museums and art galleries and theatres (well, maybe- I can't stand shitty musicals and that's all that seems to be on now) too.

Where I live now is not London, but it has it's perks too

But you know what?  I actually really miss the North, and really don't see myself staying down here forever.  I miss being able to afford to own my home, for one thing.  Renting sucks, and I deeply resent handing over a huge chunk of my wage every month to someone else, to pay their mortgage.  My partner and I both have good jobs, yet buying down here is pretty much out of the question.  It is utterly ridiculous.  Living outside of London has the benefit of cheaper rent, but then the train company will charge obscene prices to make up for it.  My train commute, for the same distance, would be half the cost if I lived back in Yorkshire.

But even leaving the finances out of it, there's something about the northern hills that gets me.  I miss them.  I miss the different colours, the cloud, the way the hills don't look the same each hour, never mind each day.  I miss the big skies.  I sometimes- but only occasionally- miss that bitter Baltic wind that cuts you in half.

The southern rolling hills just don't have the same effect.  

Really, I miss all this:

One day I'll be going home.