Monet thought that ‘without the fog, London would not be a beautiful city.’ Thankfully the poisonous pea soupers of old are long gone. The cheap sulphurous coal that gave the air its thick green appearance is no longer burned by the bucketload in the homes of Londoners.
Sadly long gone too is the regular fog. It makes an occasional and fleeting appearance, creeping up the river, along the canal paths and over to the flatland. When it arrives, especially at night, the world takes on an other-worldly, ethereal appearance. The hard edges of the street furniture soften, and the space feels abandoned, absent of people. Look though, and observe; the quiet creeping shadow-creatures of the night-fog.
