London was ochre yesterday. Cycling through hot drizzle, on Waterloo Bridge, the clouds looked like gunpowder smoke, like bath bubble, from Parliament to Canary Wharf, condenscing heavily over the south bank. Just above the Colloseum there was a broken rainbow, almost vertical. I love such moments, when the Tourist Attraction city, the glossy postcard London Town, is destroyed and overcome, and a city of magic and mystery emerges, if only for a one brief moment. London in such moments is still a theatre set, perhaps; but what a play.