It was raining when I left the office today. The late winter sun, limbering up after so long away from its duties, conspired with the rain to present London with the most gorgeous evening light. Everything at street level glistened darkly; everything above it was golden and exalted, shining aginst a solid drift of lilac nimbostratus. A thick, solid stub of rainbow rose from Waterloo, a pale mirrored reflection a little way north. Creamy wisps scurried south beneath the great dark blanket; at Nine Elms I looked to windward and saw its edge, the horizon banded in dark grey and the most brilliant powder blue.