London is almost a marvellous town when the sun in shining. Buildings that looked dim and grey the day before sparkle in the yellow light.
Bloomsbury Park is full of people where the day before it was deserted, just like all the other parks in town.
Coats have been cast off. People are smiling, even happy, in the sun.
Except on the tube, where 150-year-old ventilation turns out to not be quite enough these days. People start fainting. Tannoy announcements suggest taking bottles of water on board.
Outside, women are casting off a worrying amount of clothing. Men who shouldn’t reveal their Anglo-Saxon legs wear shorts either too tight or too baggy.
Pub gardens fill up with people who are there for reasons beyond smoking. Pubs without gardens or terraces bung up the pavement outside.
The air is city-heavy, all heat, dust, smog and a trillion other bloody people all sweating like hell.
But the grass in the parks almost glows under the warmth of the sun.
The sun shines and people are nice to each other.