Moments lost like tears in the rain

Just drove back from my monthly writer's group meeting, down the M4 from Chiswick on a dark and wet evening.

At this stage of its evolution, the M4 is a dual carriageway on stilts that winds its way around the third or fourth stories of ultra modern office blocks, festooned with advertisements. An endless stream of red tail lights stretching ahead, reflecting off the wet tarmac; an equally endless stream of headlights coming towards me, white light collecting in the raindrops on the windscreen before being smeared away by the wipers. And everywhere these adverts - not just posters with a spotlight but (as far as I could tell) internally illuminated LCD screens for holidays and clothing companies that, frankly, are going to cause a crash one day.

It seemed the most natural thing in the world to have The Best of Vangelis on the tape deck, because I swear I was in a scene from Blade Runner.