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Paul Guest Headshot

You're So London

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I'm a going to be blunt: The rain makes you look really ugly, your mood pisses everyone off. We see you smile in the sunshine, you glisten, have your teeth been whitened?

Your many traits: The ones we love and the ones we hate; your dark criminality and your ways of high society. I see so much beauty in you, where you don't see it yourself; you're quite tall so I, my small self, have to look up and I see all of refinements of beauty carved into your beautiful face. Your history doesn't show.

You're old, but your ever-changing looks say otherwise, you're gorgeous - one could say you're addicted to plastic surgery; I've always said it's a bad habit. Metallic was never your colour. You've never really listened to me.

We've been shopping together so many times, we've dined and drank champagne, sat up on Primrose Hill and watched the fireworks at the turn of a new year. You've celebrated three birthdays, a christening and a wedding with me. We've lay on Hampstead Heath and you've told me about how pissed off you were when Hugh Grant claimed Notting Hill for his own.

You've stolen my phone twice, my wallet countless times and yet I'm still in love with you.

You're a wicked one; we've partied all weekend without a wink of sleep only to find myself in someone else's bed in the morning - these lips have made slips but it was never really serious - well, maybe once or twice - two relationships you've held my hand through and numerous dates. You got me so drunk nearly every day of the week, I nearly turned into a raving alcoholic - cocktails - you know how to make 'em good - think the Bellini was my favourite, you knew how to exploit my weaknesses and bubbles was one of them.

We've been on television together - admittedly you got more gigs than me - damn, you're so beautiful.

We went to the theatre, you remember? All that opera and those musicals; do you remember when we met Liza Minnelli together at that opening night party? I know, I know, you remember her mother. And who knew that Damian Lewis loved opera? Well you did, because you know everything.

Who needs politics, eh? That's why you got a Mayor, give him a comb though.

I always hated traveling with you, it was always hot and stuffy and there were way too many people, but at least I got there, eventually - you made me late so many times.

But you always brought out the best in me and you gave me the best; opportunity, fun, friends and work. I met a lot of people through you, how do you know everyone? I watched people come and go and I never thought I'd leave you, but you're expensive, I never wanted to see your bad side, but my bank account couldn't take it anymore .

I write this from my new home in the green countryside, it isn't you. I walk, but when I look up I see space. I dream of raising my head to spectate your magnificent height.

I had to leave, please understand. I still have so much to learn about you so I hope that, in a few months, we can catch up over a bottle of champagne. Or two.