When my nine-year old son Oliver woke up this morning, and I told him that Michael Jackson had died, he gasped and said, "Who's going to be the next King of Pop?!" I can't remember who he suggested now - I'll ask him later.
It wasn't immediately obvious that the happy and cheering crowd of people gathered at the bottom of The National Gallery steps in Trafalgar Square that evening, holding aloft mobile phones and cameras, were fans of the late King of Pop. Their focus of attention turned out to be a couple of guys trapped in their midst and performing Jackson dance moves to pass the time before they could get out again. The bass line of "Beat It!" could just about be heard above the whooping. This wasn't the only group of Michael Jackson fans in the Square - the whole top piazza in front of the Gallery was bustling with tribute-goers. I bumped into two friends of mine, Anna and Kim, who'd come along because they'd seen the impromptu event advertised on line. They were expecting to come across a little more than two blokes dancing to a tape recorder, though maybe things perked up later. Singing was frustratingly sporadic.................
more coming!
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