That was the summer of ‘25.

It was dry and parched, rainy and moist. It featured sunsets in Yokohama, and sunrises over the Embankment in London.

Horizons shrunk and then opened up wide unexpectedly. It led me to notice how the council had made some new art on the A4 underpass, and it brought me to check out street life in Tokyo.

It was a summer of unexpected finds. The Royal Parks still mow Richmond’s grass with a horse-drawn concoction that probably was older than me, the two people riding it and the horses. I also found what is possibly the coolest bike shop in the Solar System (Blue Lug Yoyogi, they don’t allow photos so some of the neighbourhood will have to do).

And it was a reminder, if ever there’d been a need for one, that plans never stick. That the only constant is change, that flexibility is a virtue, and that it always pays out to wake up early. Because you could be the only one to witness two swans, solemly cutting across the Thames in Barnes, or listen to the cicadas under the miracolously cool canopy of Yoyogi Park.

That was the summer of 2025.