Me Life Story by Scarlett Moffatt (best classic books of all time txt) 📗

‘You’ve got to be taking the piss.’

‘You’ve got to accept it, pal, it’s the law.’ He reluctantly took them off me, not wanting to argue with a nineteen-year-old girl who was by some standards ‘slightly pissed’. I knew I was never ever going to get away with this sort of stuff with southern taxi drivers.

Down in London, anything that could go tits up with a flat in the first week of moving in happened. There was no heating, the water didn’t work properly, me and Luke had no duvet as it hadn’t been delivered yet, nor had the TV arrived – oh, and the fridge didn’t work. So to sum it up, we were sat the day after New Year’s Day with ten layers on, wrapped in an itchy blanket, watching Netflix on an iPhone screen and drinking tepid tap water. I couldn’t even have a cup of tea because I couldn’t keep the milk fresh.

Treating ourselves to breakfast the next day (as we didn’t want to sit and catch hypothermia in the flat) we made our way into Camden. I could not believe the choice that you guys down here get. I love the north and I’m not meaning to make it sound like we only have the simple things in life but in all my twenty-six years of living up north I was never asked the following questions.

‘What kind of tea would you like?’ the waiter asked.

Thinking they meant Yorkshire Tea, PG Tips, etc, I shrugged. I didn’t want to sound too fussy. ‘Oh anything, honestly,’ I said.

To which the response was: ‘Breakfast tea, decaf, green tea, peppermint tea, chamomile?’ The list was endless.

‘Just normal tea please,’ I replied.

‘Great, would you like milk with that? We have soya, almond and unsweetened,’ he added.

‘Just like cow udder milk please,’ I requested. Other people eating in the café were in hysterics, as they could see how anxious I was getting with all the choice.

‘Would you like any sugar lumps, brown sugar, sweeteners?’ This was slowly turning into a breakfast interrogation. In my mind I was screaming, ‘I just want a fucking cup of tea, mate, with milk that comes from a cow’s tit and a teaspoon of sugar – the kind that looks like white sand please.’

Even the choice of toast was borderline ridiculous. Not just the usual white or brown, oh no. ‘We have rye, wholemeal, gluten-free or sourdough, madam,’ the waiter listed. I don’t get why anyone would want to eat toast with sourdough in it. I knew I needed to embrace living down south so I decided to try something I had never heard of that is on every menu in London.

Avocado. The vegetable that is actually a fruit that is the ‘good’ kind of fat (again something that I’d only just realised was a thing). I don’t know what it has got in it but it is addictive. I have it nearly every day now, smashed, sliced, mushed. For my breakfast, dinner and tea, it goes with everything. I tried to introduce it to one of my best friends, Billie, when she came down to watch me do an episode of Saturday Night Takeaway. I took her for breakfast down here and she giggled.

‘What you laughing at?’

‘Mate, why are you eating nacho sauce with toast?’

‘Nacho sauce? It’s not guacamole, Billie, it’s avocado.’ I don’t think I’ve quite managed to convert her to the avacoolo gang just yet.

I really love London, it is so diverse and vibrant; it has so much culture. It is virtually impossible to be bored here. Also, despite the rumours and what people say, everyone is just as friendly down south as they are up north. Everyone I have met has been so helpful and kind – but there is less chat. I think the difference is it’s so fast-paced in London and everyone has somewhere to be, people literally just do not have the time to stop and chat in the middle of the street. Also because everyone is busy and career-orientated, when I’m not filming it’s very rare I have anyone to do any fun stuff with. There’s no one I can just ask to come round my flat to have a cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit. It is so hard to make friends as an adult, especially when you’re in a new city.

Regardless, it is an amazing place but I’ll be honest I just cannot see myself settling down here. Not just because it’s not socially acceptable down here to walk along Oxford Street eating a sausage roll at 10 a.m. (which it is walking down Newcastle Northumbria Street) but the house prices are actually ridiculous. My dream – and I know that it’s years away yet and it probably will never happen but aim for the stars and all of that – is to have a house with an annex, so my mam, dad and little sister can live with me. I would love it, because I think it would be a bit much if they lived in the same house with me 24/7, but if they lived just a stone’s throw away, ahhh, I would be in my element.

Anyway because of that dream I will definitely have to move back up north as unless I want to rent all my life I could only afford a garage or a shed in London.

I’ll be honest with you, before I came down to London I thought everything was more expensive, not just the houses. I thought I was going to have to take a bank loan out when I came down to London because my dad was like, ‘Oooh, cans of pop cost £8 there.’

But they don’t! They’re literally exactly the same price as at Asda back home. He’s like, ‘Aww, a big shop will cost you a bloody fortune, pheeeew!’

‘Dad, it won’t!’

‘Have you seen the price of a loaf of bread down there?’

‘It’s exactly the same, Dad!’

When I