The baggage collections and customs was all relatively painless thankfully as it would've been a drag to be searched after the twenty three hour flight. John was the only one of us detained at all and that was just a cursory inspection.

A fellow called Chris was our English connection and he met us at the airport. He took us to the coach, our transport into the city. My first glimpse of London was a couple of black cabs outside the airport. It was overcast and had been raining. Pretty much how I'd always imagined. Perfect.

It was about 7.30 am at this stage and only just getting light. At first I thought the full size bus was public transport but it was just for us. Driving from the airport to the hotel "The Park International" was already an eye opener. What hit me was that all the familiar trees are actually native to this place and were a different green. That and the rows of pristine white terrace houses with shiny brass trim.

We arrived at the hotel and filled in a few more forms (French visa stuff). The hotel rooms are really quite nice but very small. John and I are sharing which is usually how we do it, with Ron and Mick in another twin and Sean and Wendy in a double. There was nothing to do band-wise today so after I'd had a shower I was ready to get out and see London. The rest of the band were still getting organised so I decided to strike out on my own.

I headed up Cromwell Rd. towards London proper. I figured if I found Trafalgar Square all would be revealed. I didn't have a map so I simply asked directions. Ron, who was born and raised in London, said it would be too far to walk as did a couple of people on the way but I didn't care. This was me walking to London.

Walking past the Victoria and Albert Museum I realised I wasn't even going to scratch the surface of this place when I came upon Harrods department store. I kind of bumbled around in there for about a half an hour. Asking directions to the city, I headed off again and found myself at Hyde Park Corner. I took a subway walkway and found myself in Green Park near a huge arch with the statue of an angel woman riding a chariot drawn by huge horses. Incredible.

I was halfway down a tree lined street when a parade of three gold carriages drove past with a police escort. "'Ello 'ello", I thought, I must be very close to Buckingham Palace" and five minutes later sure enough, there I was out the front, watching the changing of the guard. I think that's when the penny dropped, I am in England. For a lot of us non-indigenous Australians, it's the ancestral homeland. It was all so familiar, I already knew it so well, but it had come to life.

I headed up a wide tree-lined street adorned with Union Jacks that lead away from the palace then under another huge arch and a few moments later found myself looking up at Nelson's Column. Here it was, Trafalgar Square. I remember thinking, "What an extraordinary life this can be at times!" I had a coffee and a sandwich in a little place off the square and then kept walking.

I found myself in the theatre district. There was "The Palace", "The Hippodrome" etc. The real thing, as opposed to their name sakes we have in Australia. This was your actual Covent Garden. I stumbled onward until I found myself in Soho, (your actual Soho!). Street after street of clothes shops, book shops, street markets, strip shows and as expected, characters everywhere. The place was so big and alive and buzzing. Then I turned a corner and there was the legendary "The Marquee Club". Wow. I needed a drink.

I stepped into a classic little English corner pub and had a pint of ale. By this time it was around 3.00 pm and I knew I was running out of time and I wanted to see the National Gallery before it closed. I headed back to Trafalgar Square and on the way stopped in at the National Portrait gallery which was stunning, literally. I found myself constantly shaking my head.

I then walked over to The National Gallery and stood on the steps overlooking the square just as the sun came out for the first time that day and there was Big Ben in the distance. There was no doubt about which city I was in. I went into the gallery and before even looking at any paintings, I was over-awed by the architecture of the place. The ceilings, my God!

Numb with culture overload, I walked past walls of Constable landscapes, Gainsborough portraits and a whole room of Rembrandts, all of which were familiar to me from photos in books. Just when I thought it was time to leave before I imploded, I noticed a sign saying "French Paintings of the Nineteenth Century". Oh oh.

I went down to the basement and the first thing I saw on the far wall was Seurat's "The Bathers". It was at least twice as big as I'd imagined. I was floored. For the next hour or so I wandered around in a semi dream like state, past Renoir umbrellas and Monets, and Sislys, Pissaros and the master, Picasso.

By the time I got to Van Gogh's "Sunflowers" I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. It really was a very emotional experience having your nose not six inches from these masterpieces, the images which have been indelibly stamped into your consciousness for as long as you can remember. They are part of your frame of reference. Your innate aesthetic lexicon.

I eventually dragged myself out at closing time, walked up Pall Mall and I remembered thinking how long ago it was that I'd last played Monopoly. I found myself at Piccadilly Circus and walked up past Hyde Park as the sun was setting. I remembered Jude had said it was like Melbourne only more so. I know what she means.

I caught a red double decker bus (no.74) back to the hotel, and it was dark when I arrived. The rest of the band was in the bar having a drink and we exchanged stories of the days events. We went over the road to an Indian restaurant, and by 9.00 pm everyone was completely wasted. We went back to the hotel and I fell asleep almost immediately. My legs were aching, but a good aching.

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