Tuesday morning on Carnaby Street. The early rain has cleared leaving a bright sky draped with torn remnants of cloud. Puddles gleam in the gutters, sending up effervescent vapour as the sun warms the asphalt and concrete. Reflections shimmer in the pools along the sidewalk: shopfronts and buildings bent and moulded into convex shapes and concave contours. Continue reading Sympathy For The Devil
At seven bells in the afternoon watch, Charles and I step aboard the afterdeck of HMS Belfast. There is no wailing of bosun’s pipes, sprung to welcome us aboard. No stamp and clash of Marines presenting arms. No doffing of hats, no white-gloved sideboys, no parade of midshipmen. We are simply two more civilian tourists coming aboard. Continue reading Ship of the Line
We climb the staircase to the club’s first floor. From the high-ceilinged corridor, oak-panelled doors lead to discreet rooms and chambers, each one bedecked with portraits of military men and scenes from great moments in military history: the retreat from Kabul, the Battle of Plassey, Captain Oats leaving the tent in an Antarctic blizzard: “…I may be some time.” Continue reading Lunch at the Club
I am Battersea Power Station. I am the modern-day Valhalla. I stand tall and imposing over the London skyline. My chimneys reach towards the heavens, a testament to human ingenuity and power. Continue reading Welcome to the Machine: Part 3.
Sleek elevators connect the mezzanine floors where exclusive emporiums — Apple, Armani, Under Armour — are yet to open. The notes of soft, electronic music hang in the air, unresolved. At this hour, the gigantic space is empty. Continue reading Welcome to the Machine: Part 2.
In the heart of London, I stand. Battersea Power Station, a colossus of brick and steel. For decades, I’ve watched … Continue reading Welcome To The Machine: Part 1.
She was the Circle Line train, travelling on a loop unbroken, each station a jewel in her crown, each journey a chapter in her ever-growing tale. Continue reading The Circle Line
Bridges tell stories. They span time and history as well as the waterways of the world. Continue reading On Westminster Bridge
“The gentleness of heaven is on the sea;Listen! the mighty being is awake…” – William Wordsworth, By the Sea (1807) It … Continue reading UPROAR! at the Bookshop By The Sea
The cobbled street is freshly cleaned and the facades are all free of graffiti. There’s no rubbish blowing along in the gutters and I’ve yet to see a dosser. My coffee is excellent; the conversations at the other tables are all about bike rides, exercise regimes and weekends. I could be on any suburban street in West London. But Lower Marsh Road doesn’t look anything like the street I remember from the winter of 1989-90. Continue reading On Lower Marsh Road
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