“The sky outside is wet and grey” – Episode (???) in a ongoing series {grin}

[lapinenoireuk.livejournal.com]

My city.

She’s clad in the remnants of past glories like a child playing with the contents of a dressing up box.

She’s a tattered old lady still dressed in her wedding day finery - a still regal (but mad) Miss Faversham surrounded by decay and dispair

But she’s mine.

She only dresses in grey, it’s true, but there are always shades of grey and the skyline here, even at the drabbest of times, has a certain majesty.

Trust me.

From the dome of St Paul’s, you can gaze over the mismatch that makes up the London Bridge and down as far as the distant fingers of towering steel and shattered glass of the Crystal Palace to the South or turn eastwards, past the warren of St Giles, towards distant Silvertown. There is nowhere else quite like here.

Over the years she’s been attacked by all and sundry and still she stands. Made up from all that’s been here, from the shattered stones from the Temples where the Roman worshipped their gods to the debris left by the suicide bombers. All linked together to make up the whole that makes this city what she is.

This is the old lady that we call home.

This is our Necropolis

This is our City, ….. and we’re taking her back