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If I lived in London, I would be an artist. I would spend all my time trying to perfect the looks of people's faces in pencil, ink, charcoal - maybe I'd try oils again, but I would definitely be an artist. All the time that I wasn't drawing, I would spend taking my daughter to galleries and museums, sketch book in hand, tracing paper and pencils. I would teach her how to rub the pencil lightly over the tracing paper to capture the unique beauty of friezes and frescoes, floor tiles and Venetian radiator grilles. I would show her the beauty of art in the simple world around us. We would pick flowers and rub their petals into our sketch books to create natural colors. We would steal daffodils for the sunshine, purple pansies to create the seas, pink tulips for our sunsets. We would have spent more time enjoying places and less time worrying about getting there.

And if I discovered that I couldn't paint or draw after all, I would be a writer, for there is no greater beauty in the English language than in England. It isn't the accents, which "of couse ah chahming" but the rich flavor of the words, the rhythmic song of the sentences. Somehow it seems there are so many more words to choose here.

I would keep a journal, with blank, unlined pages, so that when the beauty of life came before me I could capture it, in drawings, sketches and words. It would be a small book, easy enough to fit into my purse or pocket and I would write in it only with a fountain pen. When seated on the underground train or waiting for the curtain to rise or just enjoying coffee in the square, I could record those pictures or words when they are before me. Instead of having to try to recreate the inspiration later. Or worse, losing it forever.

I would finally read all the works of Shakespeare and Oscar Wilde - although I suspect I might not finish Shakespeare's historical tragedies, but I promise that I would read Macbeth at least another six times. And maybe I'd read all of Oscar Wilde's works six times each.

I don't know if I would read the newspapers - there are almost too many to choose from. I wouldn't want to spend that much time reading about what is going on around me, I'd rather live it.

I would buy fresh flowers from the street vendor outside the underground station every single Friday without fail. I would want the vendor to look forward to seeing me and miss me if I didn't show. The vase of colored beauties would sit on a hall table just inside the entrance of our flat so that they were the first things you'd see when coming home, and the last things before leaving.

I would teach my daughter to always give money to buskers who are making music. Even if they're playing "Feelings" on the electric guitar. Busking is hard work and anyone who is willing to work at a living deserves one.

If I lived in London, I would map and photograph every fountain in the city. If I care, maybe someone else would, too.

And I'm sure that I would stay up late and get up early - because I know I'd never get used to the time change.

If I lived in London.

Learn more about this author, Michelle Henderson.
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