A warm sun is scratching it's fingers across the rooftops; carving out places for shadows to linger, and slow-baking flagstones, where the neighbourhood's cats can languidly swish their tails.

More sober, less excitable colours are being chosen and mixed from the night-time palette: a softer, evening blue for the sky, a rose-peach for a setting Sun. Even the orchestra of garden birds has started to pack away it's instruments.

London in April. I like it, and I like it regardless of the month. So it nags; so it whines; so it'll tap you on the shoulder when you least want it; so it uplifts as much it wearies; so it galvanises; so it can certainly frustate; so it can be painful; and yet in the same space of time, it can give the most intense pleasure.

I've been here for nearly twenty-five years - almost a quarter of a century's worth of sights, sounds and sensations, I'm carrying around. I'm going use this blog to spread the load a little.

There's never been any precise theme to this blog, and there will not be - what's the point of being confined to say writing about politics, or football teams, or favourite paints. Doubtless, the dedicated truffle hound with time on their hands could probably sniff out broad themes here and there. Nevertheless, I am going to put the semblance of a superstructure in, and that's going to be the occasional posting taken straight from the twenty five year archive I'm carrying around. It'll be the stuff I've experienced, overheard, witnessed, been amused and bemused by, or that has simply stuck in my mind and just refuses to budge.