Grand Depart

Last week was spent in Londres at a good friends house, aiding the current work-load. It felt a lot like being at art school again. In more ways than one. As with the general positive feelings of being back in Britain, London was much more refreshing than last I remember it. There was a buzz that the Tour de France, Wimbledon and peak tourist season can't help but make and the rain tried but ultimately failed to dampen the spirits. After an epic studio move on Sunday, I spent Monday and Tuesday taking photographs of the stormy skies and drawing around the city. Wednesday to Friday was fairly solid work before I headed over to the opening ceremony of the Tour in Charing Cross.

The periphery of the square was completely packed as I jostled a little closer to get a view. As I did that, and neared the kerb, a familiar Glasgow Wheelers top came into view and so I chatted to an old acquaintance for an hour and a half as the thing kicked into gear.

What was notable about Ken Livingstone’s speech (apart from the comedy French on top of that already comic accent) was the camaraderie and pride of being a Londoner. I suppose this happens to a city that has had as much conflict, but I don’t remember having felt such a feeling in Glasgow. Perhaps because I'm not Glaswegian.

The selfless attempt to promote cycling in London – the reason the bid stood apart from its counterparts and won the Grand Depart – was greeted with uplifting applause. It was a rare positive feeling in a world that the media seems to be increasingly making anxious. The genuine air of friendship between the tour organizer and wee Ken made it a fairly sincere affair before the dancers and, ultimately, cyclists were (literally) wheeled out.

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