The Year In Music: 31st March

April Come She Will, Simon and Garfunkel (1966)

For the first time in years, possibly the first time since conscious adult life, I forgot about the clocks.

When I normally think about this weekend, I think of a girl on a hill, on its summit, London stretching out before her. I think about the sun coming up, a burst of colour breaking on a flat white horizon: orange, lilac, lemon, rose, in a line, a thick smudge of messy watercolours.

I remember the eighteen months I worked at the Tavistock Centre in Swiss Cottage, Belsize Park, in 2001, 2002, as a family therapy secretary, how I’d take my sandwiches to Primrose Hill here in the Spring, and look out over the changing city, think about coming here at dawn. The skyline so quiet then, no Shard, no cluster of macho big boy Lego around Liverpool Street, just the domes, the BT Tower’s mace, Canary Wharf’s distant sparkling pyramid leaning up against a friend. London before me, as I’d think about throwing myself off the edge, tumbling down the grass.