Your hand in front of your face
This morning we awoke to a classic misty September morning. The eldest was excited, he chattered along the short walk to school about ghosts in the mist and I shared with him tales of my childhood in London with ‘real pea-soupers’.
“Sometimes you could barely see your hand in front of your face” I told him.
Part of me though was pondering whether that was when I was growing up or something I had read about Victorian England. But, the look on his face was priceless – Imagine that… could see him thinking, like having an invisibility cloak for the whole of the city. WOW.
When the heat burned away the mist, my friend and I found ourselves in a middle of a sunny fine morning. Perfect for squandering the two and a half hours nursery time on a leisurely walk along the river. God, I love London.