What baffles me about London is that, for a city so well-connected to the rest of Europe and everything that it can offer, why on earth they let a beer such as Fosters become so popular is beyond me.
London’s best-kept secret is nobody tells you before arriving in the UK that the pubs close at midnight.
When I want to chill out I go for a walk through one of the many parks scattered across London – it might seem boring, but when your holed-up in a hostel or a sardine-can size apartment with five other roommates, you learn to appreciate wide open space.
What I miss most about Australia is being able to walk into a Bakers Delight and grab a cheesymite scroll for lunch or the 15-minute drive home from work rather than an hour-long train, bus and walk. It’s the everyday things I took for granted.
Living in Fulham, you’ll find me in the Cock and Hen, the Fiesta Havana and the Elk Bar for drinks. While they’re all good fun, it’s the big old London pubs such as the Cittie of Yorke, near Chancery Lane Tube, that are really something to see.
To ward off a hangover, I sample a kebab on the way home on a night out. The best cure after a big Saturday night is a good old-fashioned Sunday roast from the closest local to your doorstep.
What gets me up in the morning? Realising that I’m living (and surviving) on the other side of the world, which many back home only ever dream of.
My perfect weekend would kick off with heading to a museum or a walking tour. From there, I’d round up some mates to enjoy good food and a cold beer to take us through to Sunday when that hangover cure comes into play.
My biggest faux pas is forgetting how many times you’re supposed to kiss someone on the cheek when you greet them. In Europe, I’ve ended up planting a third kiss on the lips, which can be embarrassing.
Five words that sum up London … My home away from home.