still London

She came she saw, she set foot on a crowded bus - two crowded buses - nipped passed unarmed police and attempted to get on a tube. (Delayed.) Tried to get on at another station (foiled by more unarmed police: "Security alert.") Walked a long way, had her hair cut, bought some books, sat in a cafe and read her Guardian. She also smelled cooking of every ethnicity, saw people of every ethnicity - some veiled - some in Arab robes and head-dresses like the one her eldest grand-daughter wore as a shepherd in a nativity play made out of a teatowel - these didn't look as if they were made out of a teatowels though; like the men's robes they were very clean and very white (do the veiled women spend their time washing and ironing?) .

'This is still my London,' Granny thinks. 'I still love her. I still love everyone in her.' Well nearly everyone - she didn't quite love sweaty and frightened-looking ?Indonesian male jammed up too close to her on one bus - no problems - no suspicious bag:he just didn't smell very good. Up front was a wild old woman with a stick, a bent back a rather big red nose, wearing a blue winter coat who said loudly in a very posh deep voice when anyone tried to be chivalrous. 'I WANT TO STAND UP. I DON'T WANT TO SIT DOWN.'

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