It's a Friday night and although I felt like a drink, no one else did, or at least not with me, so, sensing that I'm set for at least one spell of boredom this evening, I thought I'd write about the view from my bedroom window. It's our bedroom window really, but Sarah's away touring the landmarks of Stockport, so for the moment it's mine (unless our landlady emails later to demand a retraction).
About five minutes ago, the sun was shining through the clouds and actually creating that Ascension into Heaven effect you see in old Italian paintings, but it's one of those fast-changing September sunsets and the black clouds have hustled in, as if to say, "Nothing to see here." They're doing a shoddy cover-up job, though; the sky is still dazzlingly bright, at least for my sensitive retinas.
It's a mess of a skyline, frankly – green-netted scaffolding seems to be growing over every other building – but there are some interesting details: you can see the switched-on floodlights of the Oval to the south-west (or "left", if we're being panoramic); the reflection of cars going past in the tall windows of the large office opposite, its roof perfect for a Hong Kong action flick's gun-pointing tableaux; a distant flag blowing in the wind, which could even hail from north of the Thames; and, closer by, one of Westminster's towers tantalisingly just visible behind the large lopsided Sycamore, which has recently been garlanded by small blue lights which apparently only come on between 9 and 10pm. We often stare out at them, wondering why.