The moon has been good this week. I’ve noticed it popping up on Twitter, a place increasingly lacking in simple pleasures. We might wake in the night and touch a thick black screen to tell the time, but there are still some lunatics among us, looking up and marvelling at the orb glowing in the sky. I caught it between the high-rises as we rattled through Waterloo and into Elephant and Castle earlier this week, yelling “THE MOON! THE MOON IS AMAZING!” at M. At that time of night (11ish), even these tarmac arteries are quiet enough to hurtle down with half an eye on the road, and the other on the sky.
We were heading back from seeing Cabaret in the West End, which was fabulous and dark and made me feel like I really was walking into a club in 1930s Berlin. You’re given a sticker to cover your phone camera with. If I’d seen it when I was 16, I’d be moved to wear nothing but ruffles, leather and kohl for the summer holidays.
Cycling through the city at that time of summer night is one of my very favourite things. The temperature is perfect, the breeze is perfect. You are transporting yourself in a city built of bus stops and ticket barriers using your body and mechanics alone, under streetlight, under moonlight. The best.