It was at St Paul’s tube station that I met Daniel, or rather, that Daniel met me. Daniel, a self-professed Italian playboy, insisted that he accompany me across the Millenium Bridge on my way to the Tate Modern. When we got to the end of the bridge, Daniel asked if he could join me, to which I replied that the exhibition cost £10 and that I wouldn’t mind just going by myself if that was ok. At this point Daniel stamped one foot, told me that I was just like an Italian girl – ‘boring!’ – and stormed off back in the direction of St Paul’s. This is the view from where I stood as he marched his way across the Thames. I like to think of him as a sort of ferryman, forever going back and forth across the river that divides the world of the living (the Tate) from the world of the dead (St Paul’s).
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