The longest day

If you have to ask, you'll never know.

A lot can happen in a year

says the ad as I rise out of the bowels of Liverpool Street station. It’s for some green energy provider.

Money off today, it scrolls.

Greener rewards tomorrow.

I take it as a good omen.

—

There are two ambulances with flashing blues parked outside Liverpool Street station. Inside the station someone is having the worst day of their life. Out here in the sun, along the vomit-marked pavement sticky with food waste, everyone tromps past, eyes on phones.

Two girls outside the sushi place sip iced coffees and loudly compare notes on cage-training their dogs.

“At first she whined all the time.”

“Yeah, but now she’s used to it.”

Men in sunglasses and beer-stained shirts bowl past. Outside a pub, the window shutters are flung wide in the heat. There’s a nervy, febrile tension in the air. It’s 24 degrees and England are playing later.¹ The drinking is in full swing in the heart of the City.

At the entrance to the office, before I revolve through the doors, a construction sit…