You see a boy standing in front of the Southbank Centre, on a warm day in July, and he’s staring right ahead, at a water fountain.
He doesn’t move, just stands there, mesmerised. What is he thinking?
Is he wondering about gravity? How the water goes up in the air, defying gravity?
Or is he wondering whether he should just jump in and get all wet? That would be fun - but would mum and dad like it?
Or is he just enjoying the visual display and the noise - the splash-splash of the water shooting at the sky and falling down?
I didn’t want to break the spell by going round and ask him what was on his mind.
And I didn’t want to disturb his moment with the magic of the fountain. Fountains have a magical appeal, don’t they?
And what makes this moment in time even nicer is the way he’s dressed and groomed: with that burgundy waistcoat and his neat strawberry blond hair.
Somehow... I was mesmerised...