Now the train are quicker, and less crowded, I seemed to go London loads.
I thought when Dad died I would to London less, so much that I love of London was given to me through Dad’s eyes.
But some of the most inspiring anti-sex trade work is going on in London. And in that I have built myself a new and different London. A London with my spirit has so much freedom.
London for me is a mixture of the new and the old.
The old is my love of architecture, walking round Hyde Park with so memories, exploring Bloomsbury and Fitzrovia, going to art galleries, going to the theatre especially matinees, eating out, going to Richmond and seeing where Turner painted, endless bookshops, getting lost in Hampstead Health, watching kites at Primrose Hill, going into Camden Market, watching Arsenal, walk by the Thames, going to the South Bank, shopping in Covert Garden and so much more.
All that I did in the many years that I stayed with Dad and Judy.
I am a Londoner in every cell of my body, even if I don’t live in London.
As I wander it’s streets, I understand the rules of how to thrive in London.
But by god, I have terrible times in London.
I had times when I was raped over and over and over by my stepdad.
He would pretend it was a date. Take me to some posh Italian restaurant, ply me with wine. Only for it always to end in being abused in the same old way.
I have major arguments with Dad, till I storm out of his house and wander the streets.
As a child, I spent many hours walking the streets, in order not to go home. I would go to Soho or King’s Cross. There I felt terror, but acted hard.
I learnt the mask of toughness when I was far too young.
I saw prostitution, I saw the degradation, saw the pain, saw the deadness in their eyes, saw their anger – and it planted a seed into my heart.
One day I kill myself by doing that.
I was a lost London child, but so many outwardly I appeared happy and well looked after.
Later, when I was being fucked by johns in hotels or flats in London, I was too dead to know how the chicken had come home to roost.
I could not see the irony.
Now, I have another London.
A London that will campaign against everything that made me a whore. There are women and some men who do not accept the lies of the sex trade, and fight to make a better world for prostituted women and girls.
I join them, and whore-self feels her life was not wasted. She can let out her rage and see it does make a change.
I will not be silent any more.
Tomorrow, I am going to a talk on why men go to prostitutes.
Personally, the answer for me is short – because they hate women, because they know can do any sexual violence and it will made invisible, heck, because they are bastards.
But I am going to hear Melissa Farley, who rarely comes to England.
And tonight, in a decadent London I having a very early birthday meal out.
I need this, coz it has been a very hard year.
And in London I can grieve Dad and Judy.