Signs you are a Londoner
You say " The City" and expect everyone to know which one.
You have never been to The Tower or Madame Tussauds but love Brighton.
You can get into a four-hour argument about how to get from Shepherds Bush to
Elephant & Castle at 3:30 on the Friday before a long weekend, but can't find
Dorset on a map.
The Tube makes sense
The Tube should never be called anything prissy, like the Metro/Subway.
You've considered stabbing someone just for saying "The Big Smoke."
Your door has more than three locks.
The most frequently used part of your car is the horn.
You consider eye contact an act of overt aggression.
You call an 8' x 10' plot of patchy grass a garden.
You complain about having to mow it.
You consider Essex the "countryside"
You think Hyde Park is "nature."
You're paying £1,200 a month for a studio the size of a walk-in wardrobe and
you think it's a " bargain."
Shopping in suburban supermarkets and shopping malls gives you a severe attack
You've been to Tooting twice and got hopelessly lost both times.
You pay more each month to park your car than most people in the U.K. pay in
You haven't seen more than twelve stars in the night sky since you went camping
as a kid.
You go to dinner at 9 and head out to the clubs when most people are heading
Your closet is filled with black clothes.
You haven't heard the sound of true absolute silence since 1977,and when you
did, it terrified you.
You pay £3 without blinking for a beer that cost the bar 28p.
You scoff at zone 4 crowd even though you were raised in a farm town with a
population of 57.
You actually take fashion seriously.
Being truly alone makes you nervous.
You have 27 different menus next to your telephone.
The UK west of Heathrow is still theoretical to you.
You're suspicious of strangers who are actually nice to you.
You haven't cooked a meal since helping last Christmas with the turkey.
You take a taxi to get to your health club to exercise.
Your idea of personal space is no one actually standing on your toes.
£50 worth of groceries fit in one paper bag.
You have a minimum of five "worst cab ride ever" stories.
You don't hear sirens anymore.
You've mentally blocked out all thoughts of the city's air quality and what
it's doing to your lungs.
Your cleaner is Filipino, your sandwich man is Italian, your landlord is American,
your barber is Cypriot, your favourite bartender is Australian, your neighbour
is 15 South Africans / 20 Antipodeans, your football team contains less than
five Englishmen, your last mini cab driver was Ghanaian, your newsagent is Indian
and your favourite food is Tapas, was North African last year but Pacific Rim
the year before and your furniture is largely clip together Swedish.
You wouldn't want to live anywhere else - until you get married.
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