Two of my friends have written novels and now in the throes of editing. I met one of them yesterday. She was high after attending a reading by Janice Galloway at Kings Place. We met at the South Bank in the National Theatre, but it was too nice to be inside, so we followed this invitation to the rooftop garden of the QEH.
Unfortunately for us, lots of other people had had the same idea and the seats were all taken. We stood, we admired. I photographed. We wandered, we wondered.
Foyles on the Southbank didn’t have Janice Galloway’s books, so we walked over the Jubilee Bridge to Charing Cross and into Waterstones. I am not supposed to be buying books, but I came home with three. I blame my friend. There was a buzz at Trafalgar Square with a Japanese festival, but we contented ourselves with loitering outside St Martin-in-the Fields, talking and watching the colour from a distance. I saw a friend and then Paul Gambaccini strolled by.
Walking back over the bridge, the sun was starting to go down and St Paul’s shimmered to the east.
And the Shard towered over everything, but was still dwarfed by the sky.