Nothing like the sun

Sunday was the summer solstice, the longest day of the year. Children and tourists frolicked in the city's fountains and pale, pink bodies l...

Sunday was the summer solstice, the longest day of the year. Children and tourists frolicked in the city8217;s fountains and pale, pink bodies laid themselves bare to the sun. And, along with the hot bright sun and clear blue skies, to announce that summer had officially arrived in the city, England was roundly thrashed at Lords. London is the sort of city to turn anyone, even one born to tropical sunshine, into a sun-worshipper. For the last several weeks it was washed grey with forceless rain and unseasonal temperatures. Those minuscule bits of fabric that pass for this summer8217;s fashions were well tucked away, wet tables and chairs sat forlornly outside the nouveau-Parisianised cafes and the flag of St George hung limply from windows all over the city. But all that was easily forgotten. The cafes were doing a spanking trade, platform heels and summer frocklets were everywhere and St George8217;s Cross was flying high again in readiness for England8217;s game against Romania.

Cosmopolitan vice: London8217;s WestminsterCouncil is fighting a losing battle with phone sex. Not the phone in for a session of heavy breathing8217; sort but the phone to pick up a prostitute8217; type. Ever since London8217;s vice squads cleared the centre of the city of its prostitutes, phone booths have become the point of contact. The booths are plastered with postcards advertising services for every sort of eroticism, and with as much ethnic variation as possible.

The first time I came to Britain, in the late eighties, London8217;s phone booths were still just phone booths, and grim-looking women lurked around King8217;s Cross Station hoping to entice a punter. The second time round, in the mid-nineties, King8217;s Cross had been quot;cleaned-upquot;, the women were gone, and you no longer had to jump over comatose junkies to get to your train.Since then London8217;s cosmopolitanism has been laid bare in its phone booths, from Thai girl, new in town8217; and domineering Indian babe8217; to the Swedish beauty8217; or African Queen8217;, complete with well specified services often offersto whip or beat men into submission, service them on their way to work, and occasionally, quot;in luxury apartmentquot;. Westminster Council, in whose jurisdiction the majority of central London8217;s tourist spots fall, decided that this was bad for the city8217;s image and did a deal with British Telecom to clear the booths. The idea was to deny access to the numbers advertised. Apart from the fact that new cards and new numbers arrived at a remarkable pace, a minor revolution in communication technology mobile phones has kept the business thriving.

Dome: London8217;s pursuit of coolness continues apace. The roof of the Millennium Dome is in place. What will happen under it is anyone8217;s guess, but according to the New Labour jingle the Dome is going to be the quot;most fantastic day-out in the worldquot; which, among other things, will quot;blow your socks offquot;. The PM is so pleased with it that he has decided that it should have a more permanent use than just as a millennium party marquee. This is perhaps forward planning by apragmatic politician. Because it appears that a large number of young Britons are drawn not to their capital city but to its transatlantic rival in cosmopolitan cool, New York. According to a survey published this week, almost a quarter of the sample of 25-35-year-olds want to see the new century dawn over Times Square, and a mere 14 per cent named the dome in Greenwich not to be confused with a chain of cheap French-style restaurants as their choice for the Millennium magic. The survey also found that almost a quarter of young Europeans named Scotland as their best party option and not one intended to go to Greenwich. Could this preference just have a little something to do with the geniality of Scottish football fans in France as compared with the English?