Back in the Village
Early morning, I walk along Embankment towards the Westminster Village and find myself standing at the crossroads of Westminster Bridge and Parliament Square. A bubble in the incessant traffic stream appears. A sports car with an actor whose face is memorable enough to recognise, but not to name, is driving. He is accompanied by a cameras mounted on a truck and police motorcycle outriders.
For some reason the suit, brutally polished muscle of the car and the actor’s determined sang-froid make me think classic celluloid secret agent. My mind moves beyond James Bond to John Drake, sparking sudden remembrance and possible recognition. I think the driver is James Caviezel.
Suddenly it strikes me I may be watching a recreation of the most iconic opening sequence in television history. If it is Caviezel, then it can only be filming for the new version of The Prisoner. I am living in the fantasy of my 14-year-old self who was entranced by McGoohan’s masterpiece. Libertarianism grew inside me while watching the defiance of Number Six. Views that found expression 20 years later in Secrets & Lies, began with a Lotus Seven growling past the Houses of Parliament and into an underground car park.
I stand on a traffic island and watch the car cross the bridge and out of sight. Suppress any delight by recalling how my excitement at being part of Star Wars history turned to a quinine bitterness when I actually saw The Phantom Menace. The classics are often unforgiving to those who try to fuck with them.
At 7am I slide my security key and open the blast doors. A heavy push on the thick, cold metal and six flights of stairs take me to my new space. Like banging the blackened skin of a bruise and being reminded of the original injury, the 80mm of armour makes me painfully aware I am in the Westminster security triangle. Even without this, my window view of the Thames House transmitter towers screaming paranoia into the static confusion of the infosphere prevents any denial that I am well and truly back in the Village.
For some reason the suit, brutally polished muscle of the car and the actor’s determined sang-froid make me think classic celluloid secret agent. My mind moves beyond James Bond to John Drake, sparking sudden remembrance and possible recognition. I think the driver is James Caviezel.
Suddenly it strikes me I may be watching a recreation of the most iconic opening sequence in television history. If it is Caviezel, then it can only be filming for the new version of The Prisoner. I am living in the fantasy of my 14-year-old self who was entranced by McGoohan’s masterpiece. Libertarianism grew inside me while watching the defiance of Number Six. Views that found expression 20 years later in Secrets & Lies, began with a Lotus Seven growling past the Houses of Parliament and into an underground car park.
I stand on a traffic island and watch the car cross the bridge and out of sight. Suppress any delight by recalling how my excitement at being part of Star Wars history turned to a quinine bitterness when I actually saw The Phantom Menace. The classics are often unforgiving to those who try to fuck with them.
At 7am I slide my security key and open the blast doors. A heavy push on the thick, cold metal and six flights of stairs take me to my new space. Like banging the blackened skin of a bruise and being reminded of the original injury, the 80mm of armour makes me painfully aware I am in the Westminster security triangle. Even without this, my window view of the Thames House transmitter towers screaming paranoia into the static confusion of the infosphere prevents any denial that I am well and truly back in the Village.
Labels: Secrets And Lies, The Prisoner, Westminster Village
posted by David at 7:41 PM
3 Comments:
I love how you manage to make the 'ordinary' seem so magical. I know I've said that many times. But I really am a fan of your writing. Always puts me into a magical frame of mind, and makes me re-imagine my own space, and that's a gift from you I treasure.
I missed you! Glad you're back, however briefly, it's always fun to come here expectantly, and see what you've posted. Kind of like Christmas Morning.. ;-)
So James Bond-ish.
Chandira – That is possibly the nicest comments I have ever received about my writing. Thank you.
GM – It has to be said that my spy in the car was not as sexy as Daniel Craig.
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