"
Love Letter to Britain,
by Poppy Delevingne for British Vogue
Love this. It so sums up the London I remember...
"I
wake to a misty morning, faint fog rolling over the hills of West Sussex, my bones filled with cold and sleep.I can hear the crackle of bacon, the bubbling of eggs on the stove, and I'm up. I check the weather on my iPhone, because that's what we Brits do, it's a national obsession of ours, and an ideal conversation starter over a PG Tips with full-fat milk. I'm heading down to London today, but not before I reel out a quick thank-you letter to Aunt Di for having us for Sunday roast last weekend. Yorkshire puddings the size of my head and drowned in gravy surely warrant some words on paper. But not just any paper. Personalised stationery with my name in bold British racing green at the top. The train is late. Once I'm on board, I sit on my frozen fingers to warm them and lean my head against the damp, dirty window. I zoom past a blur of burnt-orange and sunflower- yellow leaves, neglected playgrounds, moss-ridden fences. I listen to Oasis the Verve and Pink Floyd as I go. Once I arrive at Waterloo, the first thing I notice is the sounds, the whistles, the smell of wet pavements. I jump into a cab; within seconds, the driver and I are discussing the rain, traffic, politics and how much we love sausage rolls soaked in ketchup. A young girl crossing the road is wearing glitter on her eyes and a Molly Goddard dress: I want to jump out and put her in my pocket. We pull up to the house and, as I climb I apologise for absolutely no reason other than because I am British, and that is what My house is cosy, Four Weddings and a Funeral is on in the background as I peel off the day and slip into bed. The Queen is on the news, so I wish her good night, ready to dream of pints and crumpets and the city that I call home...
