Friday, November 21, 2003
Verona’s town centre is similar in size to, say, Brighton’s: it’s no village but also no two points in the centre are too far apart. However this town feels much smaller.
Every day – and I do mean every day – I bump into somebody in the street. And I don’t even know that many people. Bumping into people was a rare (although not unknown) occurance when I lived in Brighton. And I can’t think of a single occasion I accidently bumped into anybody in London. So it still surprises me when a friend cycles by or my boss spots me and beeps as she drives past. Yet it happens sometimes three or four times a day. I think I like it. But I wonder if, over time, it’ll start to grate: I can see me wondering if a man will ever get a few moments alone. And, of course, if there are any new bars to explore.
Having grown up in London (and having spent the last three years there on top of that) living somewhere of this size is a novelty. I do like knowing my way around very well so quickly: Christ, I’m only just beginning to get confident about navigating the major roads of London – side streets are often as much a maze as they were in Venice last weekend – so using short-cuts as confidently as a local is a novel experience. I certainly wouldn’t want to live anywhere smaller though: don’t you people get bored? I imagine – in fact I’m sure – that I’m missing something about living in small towns or, shudder, villages. Maybe – I hope this is true – I’ll one day find out what that is and appreciate it. But for now, for this young man, accidently coming across that clingy student who talks forever because they don’t have any real friends makes this town small enough, thank you very much.
Every day – and I do mean every day – I bump into somebody in the street. And I don’t even know that many people. Bumping into people was a rare (although not unknown) occurance when I lived in Brighton. And I can’t think of a single occasion I accidently bumped into anybody in London. So it still surprises me when a friend cycles by or my boss spots me and beeps as she drives past. Yet it happens sometimes three or four times a day. I think I like it. But I wonder if, over time, it’ll start to grate: I can see me wondering if a man will ever get a few moments alone. And, of course, if there are any new bars to explore.
Having grown up in London (and having spent the last three years there on top of that) living somewhere of this size is a novelty. I do like knowing my way around very well so quickly: Christ, I’m only just beginning to get confident about navigating the major roads of London – side streets are often as much a maze as they were in Venice last weekend – so using short-cuts as confidently as a local is a novel experience. I certainly wouldn’t want to live anywhere smaller though: don’t you people get bored? I imagine – in fact I’m sure – that I’m missing something about living in small towns or, shudder, villages. Maybe – I hope this is true – I’ll one day find out what that is and appreciate it. But for now, for this young man, accidently coming across that clingy student who talks forever because they don’t have any real friends makes this town small enough, thank you very much.
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