August 10: London - Going Underground

Friday afternoon and I am sitting on a tube somewhere underneath Victoria station in central London. I've just changed lines; gone from the District Line to the southbound Victoria Line - three stops and I'll be at my destination of Stockwell. I've only been in London for ten minutes and already have helped out four lost tourists on the tube - I love how The Knowledge stays with you for a lifetime. I'm in London for a long weekend. Tonight I'm going to the Royal Albert Hall with friends to see Nitin Sawhney perform as part of the BBC 2007 Proms Concert Series. Tomorrow morning I meet a friend from South America who visits London for the first time. I'm looking forward to being her tour guide, and sharing my experience of London with someone who has never been here before. New eyes can teach the old to see again. The doors are about to close and my tube is about to depart. Mind the gap.

Just opposite Hyde Park in West London, is the Royal Albert Hall. Despite living in London during 1992-96 I never once went there. What did I do with my time back then? Why is it that we take so much for granted when they're underneath our noses? The Albert Hall is immense. It is an incredible venue. Big and round and deep. Just before the evening's act arrives I look about me; imagine being at the Colosseum in Rome, where everything is filled with rich, bright lights of soft shade and colour, the seats are made from deep, red velvet and everywhere you look you are surrounded by beautiful Indian girls. If that has appeal, then I wish I could capture what the Albert Hall sounds like when the music begins, because it comes alive with incredible accoustics, capturing every sigh and sound, spinning every note upwards to those of us who are in the Gods looking down on the Heavenly saints below. The Royal Albert Hall is its own musical instrument.

In the twelve years since I've been away, it never ceases to amaze me how much London has evolved. The vibe on the streets is definately more tourist-friendly, and everywhere you go in the capital reflects this. Taking my South American friend to places like Trafalgar Square on a sunny Saturday evening - the place was swarming with people, all smiling, dancing, playing football, all mixing and enjoying the view down Buckingham Palace Road to Westminster. It never used to be like this... full of cars and too many bloody pigeons! It was wonderful to see how a tourist responded to these sites which I'd seen a hundred times before and no longer blinked at. Her face and delight at seeing Tower Bridge, Big Ben, St Paul's and Leicester Square was great to be reminded of how special these places really are. They themselves never lose their magic appeal, it's just us who grow bored with seeing them, never really valuing them until we wake up one morning and realise that they're missing from our own repetitions.

It's Sunday evening and I'm up in Earls Court on the Old Brompton Road - my old patch, my manor, my old stomping ground. Funny, whenever I'm in Paris I always seem to end up at Notre Dame - in London I always come here, to The Troubadour cafe where I spent so much of my time during my London days. This place hasn't altered. Still the same. Although the music has changed a bit - no more classical Baroque but Morcheeba tonight, and it sounds just fine. Even the waitresses wear better looking smiles. My South American friend is exhausted and a little drunk from too much wine, not enough food and a tourist guide that walks and talks for hours. But she'll survive. We're waiting for our order of food to arrive. There's something about London which I shall always love, like one of those women you meet when you're too young to know what a good thing you're on, but somehow a beautiful friendship comes instead and eyes can still share a smile that no other knows.