Irina Writes

There are days that look like the ones before and that, in turn, look like the ones before and so on, etc. Likewise, there are rainy afternoons in London, when the sky is grey and the air is silent, that look like the ones before and that, in turn, look like the ones before.

Just as life unfolds unabated on the beaches of South America or in some sun-blessed archipelagos in the middle of the ocean, life in London teems with people irrespective of the weather.

It’s a rainy but mild afternoon in the middle of March; it’s also a Saturday. I’m waiting outside Leicester Square typing on my Blackberry, looking at my phone and catching glimpses of the silhouettes that are walking by. 1,000 people seem to have passed by in front of me in less than five minutes, always flowing, never ending, and I feel in the middle of an ant-hill –

Q: who are you, where are you all going, why are you all here at the same time, what’s going on? A: a rugby afternoon on St Patrick’s day.