Hemingway was ultimately right: there is something normal about London- something mundane. The hum of the bus engines, the swoosh of the traffic as it passes, the rattle of the tube trains. It’s all so regular. London might be a mighty global metropolis, but it’s one that runs like clockwork. An ornamental grandfather clock in the hallway of your grandparents house which you have passed countless times and has been ticking for decades, but which you have never really noticed. The thing is, there comes a point where you start yearning for something different: something not so regular or predictable. Somewhere away from the wealth and monotony; somewhere where the signs aren’t all in English and the automatic announcement voices on the trains don’t all sound bored. Somewhere which isn’t so used to being able to fund and create anything it takes a shine to, that billion pound building and infrastructure projects become just another part of daily life. Somewhere a little less stable; somewhere more chaotic, where there is a chance for things to go wrong and for adventures to happen. Somewhere a little less normal.