WHO THE F*#K is JONATHAN?!

WHO THE F*#K is JONATHAN?!

As much as I’d like to say I have always been on trend. The sad truth and perhaps more obvious truth is I have not. Like everything in life, things change. Whereas now I ride a single speed, sip freshly brewed artisian coffee, and work at a start-up who provide me an unlimited supply of free smoothies… shockingly I did not start my London career in this fashion. No no, it all started in a very different manner.

Having been bought up in the rolling hills of the Chilterns, I can thoroughly say living in a city changes a person. You begin to see things differently. You develop a resting bitch face, you complain about slow walkers, you only drink craft beer that has been distilled through a cow, and many more unique habits. But for all these negative qualities you are welcomed into a club with all the allure of something quite beautiful. You are a Londoner.

From now on when you go on holiday and declare yourself from London, you are indeed from London rather than some hamlet 50 miles from a tube station. And from this, life begins…

Like so many as soon as I graduated I was instantly drawn to the bright lights of the big smoke. With my formal education over and a new-found freedom I made my first steps into my new cosmopolitan lifestyle. Life in London.

So, what was the plan, the strategy, the play? There wasn’t much of one but firstly I needed to secure a respectable job that would sound impressive at dinner parties while supporting my evermore extravagant lifestyle (and by this I mean the move away from warm cans of fosters). With the eminent crash of the financial system and continuous bashing of anything closely related to a financial institution, I did the only logical thing for an ambitious, self-assured young buck and began a fruitful career working for a bank in the glorified role of analyst. All I’m saying is the financial industry did not know what was about to hit it, I was going to make it rain (or so The Wolf of Wall Street led me to believe). At this point (some 6 years ago!) I was extremely naïve and not entirely sure what or where I wanted to be doing. Let’s say my impression of ‘work’ was very much based on films that I had seen and so please excuse this young, somewhat innocent, and quite frankly idiotic younger self.

With a job secured I turned to the second most pressing thing. A flat. Well, I had just spent three years living with eight boys in quite frankly the reminisce of a quasi crack den bred with a brothel and so it was time to live in a ‘home’, complete with fully paid TV licence. So, with two of these degenerates we did what every young post-uni twenty something does and moved to the notorious Clapham Common to join every other publicly schooled wanker banker. This didn’t quite turn out as planned. Our flat was a shoebox with extortionate rent, rampant damp, and a highly sought after view over the railway line with a built in 06.23 freight ‘alarm’ train. Glorious! But everyone’s got to do a stint…including a few nights in Infernos boogying with an elephant (it was fancy dress?!). With snakebites on tap and sports teams galloping around half naked, Clapham is the perfect middle ground between uni and full adulthood and my younger self needed all the tutoring I could get.

Although now a resident of Clapham, I would only fit in if I had the standard issue Clapham uniform; vest from Thailand, short short ex uni rugby shorts, Havaiana brazil flip flops, and a cap pulled on backwards. Conclusion? Total twat status obtained.

With the essentials now sorted I was ready to begin…

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