When I walked over the Jubilee Bridge, skirting encampments of pinched asylum seekers, recoiling from braying young men in dark suits, I glanced up at the early evening sky - it was late November - a choir of Santas was carolling on the South Bank, below the riverside terrace of the Royal Festival Hall -
Over the glass ziggurats, the enigmatic tower cranes, the dome of St Pauls, was a delicate numinous sky -
I heard in my head, very clearly, as I stood there, with my shock of white hair, Ray Davies singing Waterloo Sunset -
I remembered the first time I heard this poignant anthem - it was a golden boozy summer - I'd grown my first beard - my dad completed the Times crossword every night - I had a summer job delivering drink for Smeeds Off License - I was dazzled by a slim French girl - I read Christabel listening to sad guitars -
I'd sat with my brother, Nick, listening to the single playing on the radiogram - we dreamed our fervid dreams -
Years later, I watched a TV documentary about Ray Davies - he seemed to be a shy, haunted, soul - Sophie smiled at me - did you catch the title of that song - "People take pictures of each other"? -
Dark figures scurried past - the South Bank was illuminated with blue glowing cobwebs - my South West train sighed to a halt in the teeming station -
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