I live in London now. It does not quite live in me.

When I moved to Birmingham, I felt like I’d arrived on a donkey. All that was missing was people laying down palm leaves. Not only had I arrived, I’d arrived as a prince. I felt the city looking at me and welcoming my sovereignty over it.

London is a different species of place. People notice my outfits, but it’s no longer a game changer to wear a cravat. I knew the gay scene in Birmingham and, more importantly, it knew me. Strangers knew my name. Soho is huge, its teeth are large and glassy. For the first night here I felt lost lost lost. To feel provincial, hum-drum and effort-full is the worst thing.

But London is showing me some of its other faces now. Brixton is everything I love about Birmingham but better. There are two botanicas where you can buy magical soap, skull shaped candles or room fresheners dedicated to Saint Barbara. Looking at the shelves of occult goods made me feel like maybe there was something in London for me.

I bought some Florida Water (it’s a cologne that is also considered to have a protective, spiritually uplifting quality) and a white candle. Did a bit of hoodoo. I went to a house party as a stranger (my friend left early) and ended up bedding with someone of considerable desirability.

(It was suggested that I was picked for this purpose because I was “best dressed”. A calming thing to hear after my cravat freak-out in Soho the day before. Sometimes the mouths of one-night-stands contain oracular messages. Orgiamancy is my preferred divination tool.)

I’m not quite calm yet. I’ll have been here for five nights tomorrow, time to have taken control. If I can’t be Heir Apparant then I will be Monarch by right of conquest. I have my talent, I have my body, I have my mind. It is time to become formidable.