I rested my chin on my hand and watched the passing scenery all the way to London. For most of the journey the sky was filled with towering black clouds and from time to time rain smashed against the window. The train seemed to be racing just ahead of a deep, fast-moving depression travelling west to east. Passengers with a raincoat or umbrella stowed on the luggage rack were probably quietly congratulating themselves for their forward thinking.
At Paddington station I stepped down from the train and went and stood on smokers’ corner and smoked a fag in violently gusting wind and bright sunshine. I was headed for a rooftop party. Squinting up between the buildings, I tried to work out whether or not it was going to rain. Black clouds streamed across the London sky like outriders of a marauding army.
I went by underground train from Paddington to Piccadilly Circus.
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in