Nelson Galaxy

Guess who I saw the other day. Go on, guess will ya? No, it was not that celebrity drug taker and wastrel Pete Doherty, for a change.

I was walking along Queen Victoria Street in the City. Where the road meets Cannon Street, outside the abandoned Burger King next to Mansion House underground station and over the road from Bow Lane, I heard a cacophony of police sirens. Numerous mounted police motorcyclists appeared and stopped all traffic.

A long sleek posh black car (don’t ask me what make) came speeding past, armed officers making sure no pedestrians fell under the wheels or threw a raw egg. I had a peak to see who was sat in the back seat as the automobile came shooting past. Looking out of the window directly at me was a glass eyed dowdy Scotsman. Others know him as the Prime Minister Gordon Brown.

Then he was gone, followed by an entourage of SUVs containing guards, children and wives, probably on their way to Downing Street for a supper of beans on toast with an extra helping of corned beef.

Brown is now in Afghanistan, meeting British troops. Maybe he should have followed me home through Whitechapel, not unlike Afghanistan, probably.