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15. London Eye I come down Regent Street and there’s nobody here. No, no-one here. Nobody. The only soul my own. In the Travellers’ Club, room after room of maps and portraits, empty leather chairs. This is where the world’s wanderers brought their stories, and behind glass are the explorers’ diaries, blotched by Cherrapunji rain, pages thick with desert dust. And such deserts: Saharan, Sonoran, the thirsty Thar. Then I picture the caribou-skinned aristocrats, knocking their pipes out on Greenland’s lava. This is where the idea of Africa was first conceived. Though none have seen what I have seen who is left to read what I must write? I sit in the travellers’ armchair and sip the travellers’ gin. Yes, today might be the day when all the great astonishments must cease. 12
page 15
16. Nostalgia The door to 10, Downing Street is open. In I walk. The Prime Minister’s computer has a gold screen. Its password will be his name spelled backwards. And here they are, the cover-ups, the scandals, advice on how to smile, how to apologise. All the meaningless secrets. And suddenly the tears are running down my face. Those were the days, I say to myself. Those were the great days, the last of our lives. 17. High Life I miss the rocks, their ristras of wrack and the pools where the old connivings recommence on every tide, the beach at night with an August moon the colour of coralweed. Yes, yes. This and that. That and this. But for now in my suite at the Ritz it must be the grand cru, always the grand. 13

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15. London Eye

I come down Regent Street and there’s nobody here. No,

no-one here.

Nobody.

The only soul my own.

In the Travellers’ Club, room after room of maps and portraits, empty leather chairs.

This is where the world’s wanderers brought their stories, and behind glass are the explorers’ diaries,

blotched by Cherrapunji rain, pages thick with desert dust.

And such deserts: Saharan, Sonoran, the thirsty Thar.

Then I picture the caribou-skinned aristocrats, knocking their pipes out on Greenland’s lava.

This is where the idea of Africa was first conceived.

Though none have seen what I have seen who is left to read what I must write? I sit in the travellers’ armchair and sip the travellers’ gin.

Yes, today might be the day when all the great astonishments must cease.

12

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