Notting Hill Carnival romance

Hippy crack canisters. I can see
blue sea, golden sand, palm tree

This year's Notting Hill Carnival is ending. I clamber out over the front garden railings as the gate is wired shut in order to stop complete strangers using the front basement area as a latrine. (Someone uses the gate itself as a bottle opener.)

I sit on a nearby low wall which, like the pavement, is covered in detritus. A large sausage bitten at one end lies near me on the wall. A young white man picks it up and walks off eating it.

I go for a wander. A barefoot girl manages to keep her hat on while vomiting.

It's impossible to keep drawing - people want to chat.

Then I'm joined by my friend who has spent the last two days dancing and helping to manage a float.

An observer

While she goes off to dance some more I am a staring point of stillness on the corner.

A tall neatly-dressed young red-headed man rounds the corner, stops, tilts his head, raises an eyebrow and offers me his arm. In a different dream I go with him.

On Beach Blanket Babylon's territory

My friend returns. We become joyful mudlarks pouncing on Caribbean flags and glittery treasure in the gutter.