Don’t they always …
I step out of the door, and throw away the garbage. The milkman is there, in a vehicle that looks like it has ignored the last 50 years of technological development. A vehicle that is a milkman worthy, and that I never had expected to find in a city like London. Vincent Square is nearly empty. The first suits on their way to work, but it is quiet. Nice to slowly wake up like this. He is standing there already, near the door of Westminster Cathedral , on his crutches, holding up his cup with the hope of someone putting something in it. If I am really early I peep into the church. Not that I am a religious person, I am not, not in the way the church wants me to be. But I do believe. In things. And people. The church is a peaceful and serene place to be in the morning. I stay there maybe 2 or 3 minutes, just thinking about things. I step out again, pass the homeless guys in their carton street beds, slowly waking up to the noise of the traffic on Victoria Street. Quite a few of them sleep opposite the church, because the ventilators of the office buildings keep them warm at night. I have to throw myself into the continuous flow of people coming out of Victoria Station now, which is a challenge every day, and a big contrast to the quiet Vincent Square I came from. I manage. I enter the station. 5 minutes left, I grab a Metro walk slowly to my platform, my Caterham train is there, a faithful friend waiting to take me to work. A new day has started.
Good morning London.