If you’d have asked me what I’d miss about London before I left to live in Lisbon, I probably wouldn’t have ventured that it would be drinking bad wine while sitting on a stool with three different length legs listening to an author discuss Noughties raunch culture in the basement of an east London bookshop. But as it turned out, this was up there with teabags, except no one could pop a bookshop in their suitcase when they visited.
When my boyfriend Mark and I left London in September 2019, a three-year-old and our house plants in tow, we told ourselves that we wouldn’t regret a year in Lisbon before we were 40. We had to frame it that way, because who leaves London?
