In July 1982, after three years living in Plymouth, I packed up my things, stuffed them into a huge van and Neil drove me to London to begin the next chapter of my life.   My gran warned me to watch out for 'druggies, hippies and homos'.

I persuaded Rachel to move to London with me, although she didn't have a job to go to, and we found a small flat in Camden with two bedrooms, a tiny kitchen and a small dining room.  We had to share the bathroom with two other flats so I still had to put coins into the meter for hot water and keep my toiletries under the kitchen sink!  I seem to remember that the rent was fifty-five quid each week (split between two of us) and my job at Harrods was paying me just forty-five quid!  A weekly railcard and food left me with exactly nothing to spend!

The house in Camden was owned by a Greek guy whose parents lived in the flat below us.  They had a diseased cat that liked to creep up to our flat and leave it's scabs everywhere!  I remember the day that Neil and I arrived with the van and had to lug everything up four flights of stairs, including a double wardrobe!  The Greek parents were yelling at us that it was a 'furnished flat' so why were we bringing in so much stuff; it wasn't an auspicious start.

Neil had hoped to find a temporary summer job in London so he could stay with us until he went off to France in September to continue his education.  Unfortunately he couldn't find anything and so he finally admitted defeat and returned to Plymouth, leaving me alone in the Big City feeling small, lost and slightly disorientated.  Rachel didn't join me for several weeks so my first few day at Harrods was lonely and alien.

Here is the diary entry...