London is a place of statues. When you live there they are street furniture, omnipresent, taken for granted and quite invisible . However, walking along the Mall late on Monday afternoon I stopped in front of a rather anodyne statue of the Queen Mother - quite unspecatacular in it's faux flummery . Behind it , hidden by the steps leading up to Carlton Gardens is a bronze frieze showing the highlights of her life. The scene of her with two Corgis outside her home in Scotland and the stoic panel showing a blitz damaged London capture a much more intimate and personal side. Vivacity in bronze.
My route to dinner took me past the headquarters of the troubled oil giant BP. There were masses of press camped outside with their satellite dishes waiting to report back on the impending management changes. Something slightly illicit and thrilling about taking a photo of the unsuspecting paparazzi . A touch of their own medicine?