Diary – 6 November 2004

On Friday morning I was drinking a cappuccino in the Piazza del Gesu in Naples with my friend Angus. The sky was free from clouds, the streets were free from other tourists, and no one seemed to care that I had parked my car illegally, facing the wrong way in the middle of a busy taxi rank. At 10.30 a group of men with mandolins materialised and started strumming along as a tiny, red-faced woman belted out folk songs. Within seconds they had an audience of more than 100: young women with pushchairs, grandmothers shaped like baked potatoes, men with cashmere cardigans slung carefully over their shoulders. There were at least 20 different colours of quilted jacket, including peach. For half an hour, the crowd sang along happily, clapping and holding their photo-phones above their heads. Every passer-by knew every word to every folk song. I tried to imagine ‘Blow the Wind Southerly’ having the same effect in Leicester Square, and failed.