On days like today I find myself missing London. There’s something about it that’s just magical, it draws you in. Maybe it’s because I’m part English myself, or maybe it’s because I thrive on culture, or maybe just because I love tea and theatre… whatever it is, London – no matter how much or how little time one spends there – feels like home.

Can you really call it homesickness if you’ve never actually lived in a place? Honestly, I feel like I lived there during my two-week holiday, crammed into tiny hotel rooms, buying extra sweaters just to keep warm, but I suppose technically I have no claim on London. However; I feel homesick for London as keenly as I feel homesick for my family. I miss riding the tube, I miss the terrifyingly enormous pigeons (Seriously, what is it about London’s pigeons? Who is feeding them fertilizer?), I miss the little bagel shop in Leicester Square with the Italian guy who called me “love” and toasted the bagels just the way I like them.

I’ll be back, London, don’t you worry. And this time I’m staying.