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  • This is me, said the projected building image, 'this is what I am,' but it was just a shroud for the work going on underneath. Many of our London buildings are shrouded in such skins of plastic, scaffold and pictures right now. Despite the recession, or maybe because of it, a lot of work is being carried out within the bones of our city.

    As I looked at it in the evening sun, I wondered how many of the people on the street also were shrouded. I knew that I wore a facade that said, 'this is what I am', while inside the truth of who I am is far more messy, with work still being done. What in the world is merely an image of what we expect it to be that we just walk past and accept without stopping to consider just what is behind the expected image? How much is fake, how much is real, what meaning does it all have to hide the reality? Suddenly I had paused and I then saw the veils drop, and the cracks in everything and everyone, including myself, seemed clear to me.

    As I had frozen and pondered these somewhat philosophical things I realised gradually that the shrouds do not stay forever and in time or in moments they are lifted and seen, the reality known. Usually what's underneath grows stronger, is made good. I hoped that would be the way behind the shroud I wore upon my life. And I put one foot in front of another and resumed my path along the street of shrouded masonry and shielded people and I looked forward to getting home to my house and garden and places that seemed a little more earthy than the formally presented projections of the metropolis.
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