It was clear skies beneath me as the plane (an A380!) descended into Heathrow. Usually, it’s all fog. I was reminded that this wasn’t when I’d usually be arriving in London; I’d be departing, to miss the best times of summer.

The past two days I was in a short-sleeved top with a light jacket tied around my waist and I’d be warm. Today I had worn a jacket and it was chilly cold. This is London… the unpredictable, foul-weathered London…

… where sundown is at 9pm. The skies were still bright when we were done with dinner. Good light for shooting, but it messes up my circadian rhythms, as if it wasn’t already confused enough as it is.

I was asked how I was feeling. I said I initially thought I’d be sad, that I’d miss this place, but not that much. It’s a love-hate relationship. But once you’re on the streets, dodging that puddle, on the Tube, minding that gap, evading burly characters, converting those pounds, calculating in miles, you don’t think about it anymore. It’s London, this is London, and it’s all that matters for now.

And I can’t believe that a toilet brush is not to be found in the whole of Bayswater.

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