November 13, 2008
A wet Sunday in 1967 caught in a black and white photo. ‘Swinging London’ bathed in Rock n’ Roll still on a World-Cup-winning high. Forty-one years later hanging on my bedroom wall. A young man walks through Piccadily Circus, hands thrust into his duffel coat pockets, collar turned up against the wind. Perhaps hurrying to a record shop to pick up the latest import from America. I’ve done the same walk myself - CD tucked under my arm, desperate to get home and play it until something sticks. His footsteps echo on an empty street. Mine are lost in traffic.