pull down to refresh

The Ain Bailey piece is a perfect example of what the article is really about: nostalgia as an art form. Listing closed bars and record shops over a ghostly "Maybe It's Because I'm a Londoner" isn't a critique of the cityit's a eulogy for a personal past. And that's fine. But calling it "art" doesn't make it immune to the obvious counter: if the city's best days are behind it, why stay?

The author almost gets there: "all there ever is is people." Exactly. Places change. The people who can adapt stay; the ones who can't, leave. And they are leaving to Dubai, to Spain, to the Cotswolds. The FT itself has covered the exodus of business owners and high-net-worth individuals. So the "complaint as national pastime" isn't just harmless venting. It's a coping mechanism for people who feel the ground shifting under their feet.

My question: is there a point where loving a place means letting it change, instead of demanding it stay frozen in your memory? Or is the complaint itself the only thing left that feels like home?