Miss Adventures among the Wild Beasts of London

Ducks queue patiently for the London Eye.

A leopard awaits its prey near the French Institute, South Kensington.

Miss Adventures in Soho in the Rain

I hate the rain. Everyone in Britain hates the rain, except snails and that evil, joyless kind of person who starts getting excited about Christmas in June. It rains nearly all the time in this country, which is why we are all depressed alcoholics. But just over a week ago, a miracle occurred. The sun shone. Then it shone the next day, and the next, and the streets were full of heat shimmering off the pavement and tables outside cafes and pretty summer dresses and life was a precious, marvellous thing.  

Now it's gone back to rain again. 

Apparently four out of ten of all seats at the Olympic Stadium are uncovered. Ha! Take that, foreign tourists!

But sometimes, even in the rain, there are rare moments of beauty in London. A few weeks ago, wading through puddles in Soho, I heard jazz drifting towards me from across the square - long, nonchalant, melancholy notes falling from a piano somewhere - and suddenly I was no longer a gloomy Londoner but a girl in an imaginary Godard movie, wandering through a black-and-white square, the world shining under my heels and my own soundtrack trailing after me like smoke from a cigarette.

The music wasn't coming from the film score composer in the sky, but from a real piano in the corner of Soho Square. It was surrounded by people, one of whom was drinking a pint of Guinness. These pianos were placed in various spots all around the city for anyone who fancied playing some tunes for the random people around them.

I also discovered a teleporter. Like most forms of transport in London, it didn't work properly.

If you decide to visit Soho Square tomorrow or the day after, the piano and the teleporter will be gone. All that will be left is the rain. If I were a kind and thoughtful blogger I would have told you about them before, but I was too busy sunbathing.