I set off at seven for work- far too early but at the same time not far too early, because it was such a beautiful, beautiful morning: clear skies, frost in the air, silence and navy-blue tranquility.
Gradually as I made my journey, the world revved up. A solitary man in a cream mackintosh with his shoulders hunched against the cold made a tributary to the stream of people that flowed into the tube station. We were tailored and woolly, formal and informal, different bags denoting different occupations. Some coats were black and stern, others cuddly and domestic; everyone stared straight ahead as if to bore a destination through the chill by glaring through its challenge.
The magic ended as we took our seats on the tube train and the reality of the working day broke the dream.