“Fog everywhere. Fog up the river, where it flows among green aits and meadows; fog down the river, where it rolls defiled among the tiers of shipping, and the waterside pollution of a great (and dirty) city. Fog on the Essex marshes, fog on the Kentish heights. (…) Fog in the eyes and throats of ancient Greenwich pensioners, wheezing by the firesides of their wards; fog in the stem and bowl of the afternoon pipe of the wrathful skipper (…). Chance people on the bridges peeping over the parapets into a nether sky of fog, with fog all around them (…).
~”Bleak House”, Charles Dickens
So surrounded by that special London weather; weather so symbolic, that you can find in every book, in every movie, you read or watch; surrounded by rain and fog I stand on the Millenium Bridge, with St. Paul’s Cathedral, looking over the buildings on my left and the great Tower Bridge in front of me, trying to set my camera on that special “London mode”, to catch the atmosphere, that amazing feeling inside of me.
When you’re in London, you are part of the book, Victorian story. You see people in Victorian clothes around you, getting in or out the Hansom Cab, you see prostitutes in every little street, travellers on horses entering the city gate, you hear news about a new victim of Jack the Ripper. London is a place where your imagination gives you new pictures over and over. (That’s not only my idea, I actually heard people say the same thing)