It is a memoir, a story, a mirror – living hauntology. A revelation. It only throws glimpses to that special period. Everyone gets a decent quantum of experience mirrored and propelled by a big city‘s inner life. Everything is never the deal. That‘s why I love this rather fragmented, yet illuminating little book, inspiring own memories (entering automatically in between) about an old London that never leaves my heart. Full of life, and full of ghosts, that‘s what it has always been – even when strolling through Sansha‘s Dance Shop. Or sitting with Brian Eno (years later) in a room where they once rehearsed the first Roxy Music album. My endless walk through Hampstead Heath in December 1982 (old ladies with white dogs passing by), and Jah Wobble‘s Invaders of the Heart at the Marquee Club on that very same day. And another thing, unforgettable, from early on: the smells of the underground and the music of the trains rolling in. Those street musicians and their „heart of gold“ fighting the rust, the laughter, and the forgetting. Please do yourself a favour, and start reading Michael Bracewell‘s „Souvenir“. 121 slowly flying pages.