Waking up in the dark to go to work isn't my, or I should imagine anyone else's, preferred start to the day. But, once on a bus, I'm resigned to the current 9-5 work segment of my day.
Chauffeur driven, I'm left with my thoughts, the Internet and podcasts. It's December and I'm bundled up in a duvet coat. I share the commute with a variety of travellers at close quarters. Unavoidably, it’s the season of coughs and sniffles, which I hope will serve to strengthen my immune system, rather than make me ill.
As the blue-black of night relents, revealing a damp, pale, blue-grey dawn, filled with seemingly motionless trees and shrubbery, another day begins.
Arriving in the city, shop doorways bear the evidence of late night feasts. The revellers have long since gone, leaving behind makeshift cardboard carpets, takeaway packaging and lone bottles.
The Christmas Market stalls connected by twinkly string lights and conical Christmas trees promise a variety of delights come opening time: cheeses from home and abroad; wooden animals and figures made from teak roots; cashmere and woolly hats alongside original handmade silver jewellery; mulled wine and churros to nibble while pondering a potter’s plates.
Not wanting to be late, I stride by. Later, on my return journey, I'll pass by the stalls in the dark once more, but this time they’ll be busy and the street will be filled with people, the air with music and the Christmas lights will be twinkling.
Homeward bound, rain puddles have become lakes and I queue for the bus:
wash, rinse, repeat.
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