I just came back from spending a couple of weeks in London during what I can only assume has been one of the most consistent British summers on record. It was sunny. It was warm. Every single day!
At times it was actually too warm, which is something no one there is ever ready for. There were days when leaving the house before 5pm felt absolutely crazy and unnecessary and going into central London was completely out of the question. The Tube is still very much a non-air-conditioned situation — an absolutely wild concept when almost everyone relies on it every day. So if you are planning a London trip during a heatwave, forget every accessory you think you need. Buy a personal fan instead.
I lived in London for many years — basically most of my twenties and thirties — before moving back to Spain after Covid. At the time, I was very ready for it. I wanted to be close to my family again, live by the sea, have more space, more sun, a slightly slower life. All the things London is famously terrible for.
And I love living in Gran Canaria. I really do. But I still have the Londoner DNA very much running through my veins.
I miss walking everywhere. I miss having an insane amount of things you can do on any random Tuesday. I miss finding little vintage shops out of nowhere, meeting a friend for lunch and ending up partying until 2 am, going to the theatre, people-watching, wandering around Soho, and yes, jumping on the Tube, even if that means being drenched in sweat and standing next to someone who clearly forgot deodorant.
So when I go back now, and I go back very often, I try to do everything. I want to see everyone. I want to eat everything I’ve missed. I want to go to exhibitions and the theatre and shops and neighbourhoods I haven’t visited in ages. I want to walk around London for hours even though, technically, I moved away partly because I was tired of having to walk around London for hours. It makes absolutely no sense, I know!
It's the curse of being an immigrant, when you are away, you miss home desperately. But then you go back home and realise you don’t completely belong there anymore either, because you are not quite the person who left.
Anyway, enough with the soppiness. You came here for fashion.
Below, I’m sharing some of the outfits I wore, plus a very unofficial guide to some of my favourite London spots — including where I get last-minute West End tickets, the best place to buy souvenirs that don’t suck and my favourite shopping areas that are, obviously, not Oxford Street.
