Notting Hill Carnival

It is a riot of colour, sound and smell.

But not in the beginning. When we walk into the quietly expensive streets of Notting Hill the day is just heating up. Thousands of people line the barricades, many with gigantic cameras jostling for the best positions. Lauch and I wait for about an hour, staking out our spot that has been chosen because the sunlight will fall on the parade at the right angle. We idly watch the police keeping the crowd orderly.

Finally the parade comes up the street. Our ears are blasted with the sound of everyone around us blowing whistles and noisemakers and with the boom of sound-systems on the back of trucks. One guy blows into a conch shell that makes a low-pitched horn sound.





Men and women dance past in skimpy costumes in a million bright colours. Pieces of feather and street-parade confetti flutter in the air. A few beautiful dancers come over and pose cheekily for our cameras.



A constant scent of jerk chicken barbecuing drifts across from the surrounding streets. When we wander over, we discover the true part of the street party: thousands upon thousands of people dancing around massive, enormous sound systems set up on the street. Thousands upon thousands of people eating from vendors, rice, curry, barbecued chicken and soft serve ice cream with flakes stuck in them. Discarded soft drink cans and takeaway containers are fast filling up the gutters. We know from the papers that around two million Londoners are here, soaking up the sunshine and the atmosphere.

We work out that two million is almost a quarter of London's population. So this is what a quarter of London in one place feels like - loud, raucous, intense, almost claustrophobic with the noise and barbecue smoke. We buy ice cream with flakes and walk home enjoying the sunshine.