Today I am mourning for London. The clothes I am wearing may not be black, but my soul has darkened. My beloved adopted city has woken up to a new mayor. And as he is opposed to everything that makes the British capital a paragon of diversity. I feel despondent and angry.
I have lived here in London for close to eleven years now and what has fascinated me since I arrived is the sheer variety of its people. From the Orthodox Jews of Stamford Hill in the north to the Rastafarian community in Brixton in the south, London always has a different card up its sleeve for visitors. I also happen to be married to a Londoner who loves her city and has taught me how to enjoy what it has to offer.
Ken Livingstone, the outgoing mayor, also shares my wife's enthusiasm for this marvellous city. When he talks about London there's a special spark in his eyes and it's hard to imagine someone who will care for this city as much as he has in the last eight years.
And the sad truth is that the incoming mayor will not have the same attitude towards the British capital. A buffoon with a penchant for the grotesque and offensive, Boris Johnson, the new official in charge of London, is nothing but a public school boy with no other interest than waste the capital's money on policies that he does not even know whether they will work or not. Because he came into the post with no policies at all.
It's a gloomy day for my beloved London and my only hope is that these four years go by quickly.
It's paradoxical and contradictory that less than a week after London celebrated thirty years of Rock Against Racism with another landmark concert on the same spot where three decades ago The Clash, amongst other bands, sang against the fascist National Front, the city votes for a person who thinks black people are 'pickaninnies' with 'watermelon smiles'.
Today the tempo of this metropolis is adagio sostenuto. Let's just hope that in four years it changes to a grand finale presto.