Dearest darling London,
Today I ache for you.
I read and reread the article A.A. Gill wrote for The Times about St Paul’s Cathedral and I sigh.
St Paul’s Cathedral is the solemn, eternal boss and hub of our city. We look up for it, mark our bearing by it, judge our distance from the lantern on top. It is the axis of a compass. The great dome is the calm centre of the spinning city.
A couple of nights ago, thinking in the liminal dark, I was struck by the idea for a tattoo*, a bolt of lightening from my subconscious. The idea for a tattoo which honours my love for the city more than the obtuse and multi-symbolic crown on my right arm.
The idea arrived fully formed. So clear in my mind that I wanted to run out and get it straight away. But I am too sensible for that. I must wait to see if the seed idea grows roots.
Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say. I ache for you today, London.
* I’m done apologising to my parents for my tattoos.
They may have created my physical being but they also created who I am. And I am a person who loveloveloves my tattoos.
No Philip Larkin here. THIS be the verse: I love who they helped me become.