it's in the trees

I started walking across Waterloo Bridge, at about 2115, to see disco lights flashing along a length of the Southbank beneath what looked like a pall of smoke. By the time I got there, all was quiet, no light, no smoke, so I headed into the National Theatre, located alongside the south end of the bridge, to grab their schedule of events, as I'd intended.

Back onto the promenade, and out of nowhere comes ghostly, Gregorian chanting - well, it sounded Gregorian, but for the fact that it was female - I stop, and whammo, I'm spotlit by a pink disco light in the tree above me (cue internal rendition of Twilight Zone music). Then the hi-mist sprinklers turned on.

I'm standing there, eyes screwed shut, wearing a grimace of a smile; it isn't smoke at all, it's artificial piss-from-the-heavens. Novel. I was sure to walk through each cascade of mist in turn, each of them decorated with flashing pink, yellow and green lights; I like artsy installations when they catch me unawares; this one had me smiling right through to my toes.