Orange-fringed clouds at ten pm. A break in the rain. The grey, swollen river. I walk slow so as not to slip on the boards. At the harbour, a rather good band pump out melancholic Norwegian pop songs to an almost empty tented pavilion. The lead vocalist is the drummer. He is mesmerising. Families stroll with dogs and children. The ground is shiny and wet. The air has that beautiful cold smell of autumn. The restaurants on the harbour are still fairly full but the mood is muted. As I walk back over the bridge, the sheen of the streetlights on the drenched ground reminds me momentarily of snow.