Living In ‘The London Bubble’ Means…
*uses West Country accent*
‘So what’s this ‘London Bubble’ we’ve been reading so much about then?’
It’s a state of mind that clouds us in the capital and stops us from thinking properly.
It’s the thing we enter when we open the Evening Standard property pages, look at an article praising a stack of minuscule glass shoeboxes in Dalston borders going for £1.5 million and think ‘they’re nice.’
It’s humblebragging at a dinner party because the dessert was shop-bought from Hummingbird Bakery.
It’s saying ‘The National’ because everyone knows you mean ‘Theatre’ and not ‘Health’.
It’s nipping next door to borrow the neighbour’s raclette grille.
It’s struggling to discuss immigration without offering the services of your polish builder.
It’s saying ‘Oh, haven’t you seen it yet?’ instead of ‘Have you seen it?’
It’s going outside London and being shocked by the number of babies everywhere.
It’s not bothering to mention Trump or Brexit because nobody you know disagrees with you.
It’s realising that you haven’t gone to a public cinema in years unless The Electric or Bafta count.
It’s telling other people you’ve never heard of TK Maxx.
It’s saying, ‘London’s like a village. We have a marvellous butcher who’ll spatchcock chickens.’
It’s not being able to remember the last time you drove an actual car.
It’s meeting up with friends for dinner at short notice on a Wednesday night.
It’s getting an invite to a Northern city and going to Paris instead because it’s cheaper to get there.
It’s two words that cause panic; ‘Mango shortage’.
It’s wondering what you’ll do if it bursts.