Let me first apologise to my parents and brother Luke for missing our weekly family Zoom meeting last night, but yesterday was quite an extraordinary day. As you can probably guess from my last two entries, I took myself to check out the Notting Hill Carnival yesterday afternoon. I had heard a lot about it on the local news recently, and huge such cultural events fascinate me. While there was a small voice in the back of my mind saying it would be safer and more sensible to go with a PA like John, an even larger voice was screaming that I shouldn’t be such a wimp.

Indeed, there were two or three points yesterday afternoon when I asked myself what the hell I was doing there: I was suddenly in a huge throng of tens of thousands of people from all over the world – most would be good hearted, but I had no way of telling what any of their intentions were. Then again, it quickly became far too fascinating to turn my back on it. There were all kinds of people in all kinds of exotic costumes there; all kinds of music booming out from speakers. I began to reflect to myself that it was supposed to be a celebration of Caribbean culture, but most of the people around me would never have set foot in the Caribbean. Most would be affluent city workers who enjoy life in a sprawling, gentrified, twenty-first century metropolis, not the native Jamaicans they were dressed as. It began to feel like a bit of cultural appropriation, frankly.

However, my reflections were interrupted when a young lady I was passing caught my attention. She asked me to join her group of friends, as she was concerned that I was on my own. I was happy to take her up on her offer – new friends are new friends, after all. They were a group of five or six young people. Unfortunately I don’t remember their names, apart from that one was called Charlotte, but I spent the next hour or so with them chatting, drinking beer and enjoying carnival. Sadly however, amid all the crowd, at one point I lost sight of them, and not having exchanged any contact details, I doubt I will ever see them again.

Shortly after that, I decided it was time to find my way home. If had been a long, fascinating afternoon. I love how, for a few hours each year, central London becomes somewhere completely different. All the traffic stops, and the place becomes a giant, sprawling party, full of music and joy; a celebration of the metropolis’ rich diversity, contrasting starkly with the parade of right-wing morons I had the misfortune to attend a few weeks ago. It reminds me why I love this city. Next year’s carnival will probably be even bigger, and I’m already looking forward to going to it.