I was born and remain a Londoner, despite all attempts to escape. After each global adventure, I find myself back here, striving to reconnect. On a fine day, in a chosen spot, in spite of the business bustle and carbon-fuelled din, this remains one of the most humane and open of cities.
After the boulevards and beaches, returning from two years in LA was a nightmare. London seemed like Lilliput: cramped streets squashed with houses, pinched faces with horizons to match. My arrival was accompanied by another failed relationship, unemployment plus a shortage of funds. This didn't help matters much.
One night, I quit my bleak bedsit, and took my disillusion out on the streets. I found myself in a lesser-known part of North London, wandering through a dark wood. The place held no terror to compare with depression. If I'd met the Hound of the Baskervilles, I'd have kicked it into touch. 'Come on and try it,' I thought. 'Make my day.' Apart from the odd squirrel, there were few takers. Dark woods can seem rather empty when you're spoiling for a fight.
Eventually, I found the way back, down a long dismal street bordered by a wall. Looking over, I glimpsed a graveyard. Its presence mocked my footsteps as I hurried on. At the corner was a church. I peered at the fading noticeboard. 'St Jude,' it read.
"I know it," my my brother, Ed, when I mentioned my night. "Jude - the patron saint of lost causes!" Ed is knowledgeable on stuff like that. "Where you were baptized," he added.
"Baptized?" the word sank in. "You mean, after all this crap, I haven't really gone anywhere?" From a minefield of mystery, a world full of spills and adventure, life suddenly made sense. I'd been going round in circles the whole time, or one giant one, ending much where I began - bar a few scream-filled weeks.
The nightmare gained substance: trapped underground, as faces and stations change around you, sunk motionless in a seat. "I might as well have stayed on the Circle Line," I groaned.
Ed smiled. "You're back now."
"I don't feel I've left!"
"London's not a bad old town," he said. "We all have to belong somewhere."
I suspect he was right.
