Strong words that seemed to strike a chord. London, the city we once loved with such passion, had finally let us down. But now time has moved on.
Last month seems an age away.
That was April. And this is May. In April, you will remember, the Sylvia Plath letters had just been published, and the zeitgeist was strangely, almost morbidly, desperate, perhaps even suicidal. In north London, a new bistro called Sylvia's, with Diane Arbus photographs on the walls, serving just cold onion soup with unbuttered bread, failed to take off. And the opening of Tate Modern.