Note on a Beautiful British Summer Morning

It was like a long feared nightmare suddenly come true - it rained, after all these fleeting bliss of English sunshine, which, in hindsight, feels more like a dream.

For the first time since I received my iPod Nano as a leaving gift from my old colleagues, in the true London commuter fashion I put on my iPod this morning, loaded with songs freshly synced from my knackered old laptop. It's Lady A (Arvanataki, for the precision minded), it's Madredeus - the sweeter images of the sunny Mediterranean. The sea - in the sun.

In the rythem of a rocking boat I rode on the DLR, sealed off from my fellow commuters with the layer of music. Then came the alarm: someone pulled the emergency handle midway between Shadwell and Bank. All stopped - except my song. The driver went about normalising things, in the air of silent impatience among all onboard. It's all grey and wet outside; a very possible signal for the end of summer. So short that one ponders whether it really existed. How can it end so abruptly, when I still dearly remember the lovely Saturday afternoon spent strolling in Bushy Park and Hampton Court, the warm touches of sun, the swing of bushes in the summer breeze, my new dress?

My perfect solution then, is tuning to Sous le Ciel de Paris.

In that imagined spring sun I sprinted through the crowd, emerged in the rain, then my ears were drowned in the noises from the construction sites by the street. The delightful music persisted, all the way to my desk.

Then a truck drove by, said "oranjeboom pilsner". I said to myself: that would be very nice, for such a beautiful British summer morning.