Southbank Centre

A man with a false nose eats crumbs out of a paper bag bathed in the dim yellow glow inside the Royal Festival Hall. Mostly they are cleaning and packing up around him. Chairs stacked on tables.

The clouds are dark mauve in front of deep ultramarine. Lights dance on the black Thames. The gorms look down from the corners of buildings all around the Hayward Gallery. I discover an easier route to the bus stop, round the back of the gallery. There is an exhibition of sheds on the lower ground. As I get there the bus arrives. The sambuca is rolling around my belly on top of the (too) large Mexican meal. Uncomfortable.

The streets are damp. I like the way damp streets reflect the night. Orange glows and white light. Damp nights are romantic like Renoir. London is more beautiful then.