While cycling at night down a West London back street I watch a man purposefully emerge out of the darkness of a bridge. He walks down the middle of the road staring ahead into the distance, he is aiming for the centre of a mini roundabout. He mounts the white circle and stopping dead centre kneels down on one knee placing his hands by his sides like a sprinter on the starting blocks. He fixes his gaze on the road ahead and waits. He doesn’t even seem to notice me cycle slowly by him, he is fixed on his target. I will never know what this is or what happened next.
It’s midnight, a man sits on a bench on Starch Green, a patch of grass by a roundabout. He nurses a can of Special Brew, a blue bag sits at his feet containing a collection of more cans. He is lit softly from behind by a streetlamp creating a golden halo like the Ready brek kid. He stares ahead at the centre of the green which has of flock of discarded blue bags haunting it, dancing and twisting around in the breeze. There is a bright and almost full moon which gently illuminates the first daffodils of the year as they take their first tentative reaches out of the ground. He studies them with suspicion as if wondering how on earth they got there and what they wanted.
This is a photograph I did take in a disconnected scene but which reminded me of the moment: