Quintessentially London

I'm sitting outside Pauls, enjoying a coffee and an Escargot aux Raisins, taking in the street scene.

The dome of St Pauls, the arch of Temple Bar, the curving colonnade of the shops that replaced one of Prince Charles' loathed carbuncles. Sunlight dapples the plane trees which produce oases of shade for the steady stream of ravens and peacocks parading past. Red telephone boxes, the stripes of a zebra crossing pole topped by its amber dome, traditional red London Routemaster busses passing by. So quintessentially London.

Then the sun goes in, temperature rapidly dropping as the breeze makes its chill felt, and the Englishness of the scene strikes home with a shiver, and I don my coat.

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