I've travelled the world, and I've been to some amazing places. The transcendental wonder of China, the beauty of the diverse natural environments paraded within the vastness of America, the arrays of raw unspoilt worlds making up New Zealand, the rich heterogeneity of Europe. But London never ceases to be the most beautiful city in the world for me.
I spent yesterday evening in Blackheath - an extremely green and pleasant suburb, a small peaceful town transplanted into the midst of London. A more central Richmond Upon Thames. The short journey to work in Central London by train this morning took in the magnificence of the skyscrapers of Docklands, as well as snatched glimpses of the more historic constructions of the tourist guides. And the bus home, through the bustling City streets cutting between buildings both majestic and discarded, and across the Thames at Blackfriars - the tide high, water chopped by the wakes of boats and dappled by the dark clouds, texturing the landscape with slabs of grey-brown, shards of light piercing the vault of the heavens, casting currents of gold through the water. Tower Bridge peeking above the carriage roofs of the train crossing the rail bridge on one side, Westminster and the London Eye proudly standing facing each other across the water on the other.
And on to Tesco Metro at Elephant and Castle, where the genetic wasteland seems to be pooling tonight. The spell broken by screaming children. Gits.