I have the impression that London is losing the soul that made me love it. That soul which permeated every corner, street and square and which gave rise to my passion, albeit not exclusive, for street photography. One by one, old buildings of old neighbourhoods are collapsing and rising in their place are modern architectures, astonishing, stupendous, but increasingly cold and poor of that lively cosmopolitan humanity nourished by the history of a colonial past; by the attraction exerted on people from distant peoples in search of a better place to live; by the vocation for all forms of entertainment, not only within the walls of the numerous theatres, but also in the streets, in the squares, in the underground stations where even public announcements can become virtuoso singing performances; by an irresistible conservative nature and, at the same time, by an irreverent propensity to break the mould at the expense of stale homologations. Perhaps I was just in time to breathe in this magical atmosphere that quickly fades away. My photographs are the casket of it.