Dirty old river

I'm not that wild about London, to be frank. Britain, I like. Scotland, I love.

I've been down in England for a year, living in the Big Smoke proper for three odd months. It's a struggle, like any big city. Lots of people, lots of noise. The prices are exorbitant. The transport is shit. It takes forever to get anywhere.

I live south of the Thames; I work and hang out with people who mostly live north of it. The hassle of traversing the river sometimes feels like going through Checkpoint Charlie. I worked late tonight, finishing off a story that needed to be in tomorrow. I was feeling a trifle crabby as the Number 68 trundled along towards Waterloo Bridge.

Behind me were two girls, maybe university age. They were both southern Continentals, but from different countries, they were speaking English but obviously both their second languages. They were jabbering about how great the city is, the wealth of opportunity, the excitement.

Just as we started to cross the bridge, one said 'Look, a Waterloo sunset. This always makes me happy.' And the sun was indeed setting, this deep gold kissing the tops of the buildings on the south side, glinting off the Oxo tower. One of the girls had the Kinks song on her phone, and she started playing it and they both began singing along softly, joyfully to the tinny, mini-tannoy sound. I looked up and down the river, Big Ben, Houses of Parliament, the Eye, Somerset House, those stupid floating pubs. And I too started singing along, smiling, joyfully.