Tom Hark Preston Park
Will Post For Cash
- Jul 6, 2003
- 73,493
A lot of the time working in London, apart from when the bombs go off, you forget where you are. Home-Train-Tube-Office-Tube-Train-Home. You could be anywhere with a creaking public transport network. It can get a bit depressing. But today the sun shone mightily, the skies were brightonblue and it felt DAMN good to be in one of the great cities of the world. This time yesterday, England hadn’t even won the Ashes, and today there’s a grand victory parade, taking in many of the grand arteries of the City and ending up with that Trafalgar Square Grand Finale. Irrespective of whether you have any particular feelings for cricket, it was impossible not to love the energising effect it had on the centre. Pootling down Chancery Lane towards Fleet Street, justy before midday, there was MenInSuits and GigglyOfficeGirls running full pelt past me to catch a glimpse of their new-found heroes. For once the helicopters treading air overhead meant something GOOD was happening.
Just saw the two open-top buses go slowly past, a hundred yards before I got to Fleet Street. Who cares. Wouldn’t have recognised most of the occupants anyway. But, tell ya, every one of the hundreds of office workers heading back up Chancery Lane had a smile on their face. That's what sport can do.
Sought refuge in a deserted Walkabout at Temple, by the river, for three pints of nicely-neutral Steinlager (just the three cos I got to leave work at 4 sharpo to get to Withdean by way of the Brewery Tap). Multiple screens showing a SKY TV whipped-up presentation from Trafalgar Square, half-a-mile down the road, like it had been planned for months, like it was the Last night Of The Proms or a Royal Funeral or something. Smiling kids in tee-shirts who’d been there since early morning, cackling old dears with paper Vodafone flags. It’s what London does best. It felt DAMN good to be there. Or even watching it on a telly in a London boozer. Felt like it MEANT something.
Seems a shame it’s over and the national/secular heroes are once again to be the snarling chav millionaires of the Premiership.
Oh well. It was fun while it lasted.
Just saw the two open-top buses go slowly past, a hundred yards before I got to Fleet Street. Who cares. Wouldn’t have recognised most of the occupants anyway. But, tell ya, every one of the hundreds of office workers heading back up Chancery Lane had a smile on their face. That's what sport can do.
Sought refuge in a deserted Walkabout at Temple, by the river, for three pints of nicely-neutral Steinlager (just the three cos I got to leave work at 4 sharpo to get to Withdean by way of the Brewery Tap). Multiple screens showing a SKY TV whipped-up presentation from Trafalgar Square, half-a-mile down the road, like it had been planned for months, like it was the Last night Of The Proms or a Royal Funeral or something. Smiling kids in tee-shirts who’d been there since early morning, cackling old dears with paper Vodafone flags. It’s what London does best. It felt DAMN good to be there. Or even watching it on a telly in a London boozer. Felt like it MEANT something.
Seems a shame it’s over and the national/secular heroes are once again to be the snarling chav millionaires of the Premiership.
Oh well. It was fun while it lasted.
