Number two was very different from the first. It was the evening of a rainy day so numbers were expexted to be low. But the rain stopped, the candles, torches and bbq were lit, the music turned up and there started a magical evening.

The Thames was calm and the air misty.The lights from the city all around scattered reflections on the river and the nightlights-in-jamjar-lanterns spread across the beach looked like escaped christmas baubles. The bbq produced what were meant to be baked potatoes, but were charcoal with some fluffy hot potato inside. Blackened fingers and grinning faces were the marking of those who had been to the beach.

Whiskey and funk warmed us up. Warm enough for an enterprising boy on a bmx to make a rambling sandcastle with moat and everything. His dad amused us with his constant anecdotes and commentary, and requests for more whiskey and wine.

There were old faces, new faces and strangers, a mixed bag of people, hanging around on the beach watching London settle in for the night. Strangely connected by the awe of the view, the river, the shelter of the place and the atmosphere. Magical and mystifying, and and very special night.