Vauxhall bus station

A summer's morning. The scent of apricots and gardenias from women wafting by gives the illusion of Mediterranean warmth in the hot diesel fumed air. Pale light glances off brushed metal surfaces and shimmers on the station roof, a brief shoal of mackerel in a blue Mediterranean sea. And then the moment ends. Descending into the damp atmosphere of the undergound station you are back in Britain, a dull urban cityscape with a chill underneath the sun.