Late-night Leo

I'm in Oxford for a couple of days; I arrived yesterday evening.
It's a familiar stamping ground for me as I lived in and around the place for decades. It's still the same old city of dreaming spires, ivory towers, gilded youth and innumerable coffee bars that seem to spring up like weeds on bare soil. Clinging to the edges of this privileged existence are the same old cider drinkers and rough sleepers whose lifestyle I attempted to ameliorate a lifetime ago.
I had breakfast with my old friend and host B. then walked into the city centre along the river on a glorious frosty morning. I dropped into shops, an art gallery,  the covered market and met my old friend J. for tea at the museum. I attended an alarming talk at the Blavatnik School of Government (an astonishing no-expense-spared building that has mushroomed up where the old infirmary used to be) about US public acquiescence to the idea of a nuclear strike on Iran, and then I walked all the way to the opposite end of town to meet Arachne  for a catch-up, a bite to eat and a remarkable film The Queen of Katwe, the true story of an unschooled young girl, Phiona Mutesi, living an impoverished township on the edge of Kampala who through a chance encounter turns into a chess prodigy. Highly recommended!
Making my late-night way through the dark streets I came upon this mural randomly painted on the pine-end of a shuttered shop. It was the last shot of many I took today and seemed an appropriate note to end on: the lamp light, the urban clutter, the African connection, the unexpected among the familiar.