The friendly city of London

I am sitting in Starbucks at Bishopsgate. I have been here before, in a similar situation. I have no makeup on, I'm wearing the comfiest cardigan I own (actually it's not even mine, which somehow makes it better) - and I'm writing notes on biological processes that the people in this part of London probably just don't know about. Because they know about the money that makes the world go round, instead.

And that's fine.

But that's also scary, because I'm surrounded by people who think they're better than me, even though I know in my heart that they're not. I'm surrounded by people who are probably earning in a day what student finance give me in a year. I might be exaggerating slightly, but I might not.

And I stand out, because I'm not in a suit.

Because people don't talk to each other in London. They go about their business, and if they don't know something, they work it out. They don't ask someone else. And if they need something doing, they do it themselves, and they look after themselves. That's how it works, because that's how it has to work.

That's a sweeping generalisation, but it's also an accurate one.

And I stand out, and that hasn't been a bad thing.

If we were anywhere else, I don't think I'd be amazed by the fact that the girl behind me just asked me how to make the wifi work. Or that the man in front of me asked me to watch his laptop while left his table for a minute. But I am, and that's sad, and also an indication that in the tiniest of ways, we do need each other. We're not self sufficient.

You're learning, London. Well done.