The ascent
In Melbourne I sometimes shut my eyes and see Waterloo Bridge in London. I see buses whizz past in a flash of red. My vision rapidly flies over from the windows of Somerset House, through the sky and across the skyscrapers of the financial district, to the textured concrete of the National Film Theatre. I hear people laugh, bike bells and footsteps. Students lean against the side of the bridge and throw their cigarettes into the Thames. I feel the fresh Thames breeze blow my hair around my face.
A young man with a backpack slung over his shoulder and with a feather sticking out from his hat walks across the frame. He looks determined. This is the first bridge that he crossed on his first entrance into central London.
