March 2023 marks a notable personal anniversary for me, 20 years of living at the same London address, a modest old estate off Hackney Road.
It’s a strange sensation to have passed an entire generation at the same postcode. Part of the Faustian sophistication pact of living in London is that it offers little by way of permanence. Two decades in the same beloved spot turns into a kind of privilege anchor that young folk, aggressively priced out of the ludicrous London buyers’ market, may never experience. The month I moved in, I recall jumping into a cab from here to Heathrow and hearing Crazy In Love for the first time on the radio, meaning my years here now trace Beyoncé’s solo career. That feels like a long time.
