My flat is on the third floor of a late Victorian conversion. It sits about ten feel above street level with bramble encroaching from the west side. This empty lot separates my home from a steep embankment that leads down to the train tracks. Living this close to the tracks is more of a blessing than a curse. Although not underground the trains are far enough below street level that the sound is not that intrusive. And there presence means no development can happen to the south or west of the building. For living in such a congested city we are fortunate enough to have the most spectacular views. Sitting in my favourite window I can see all the way to the London Eye in the southwest (well at least the top half of it). To the south I watch the planes as they enter their final decent into Heathrow. On a clear day I can see the hills of the North Downs.

 
On nights I can’t sleep I wander through the small apartment conscience not to wake mark. I’ll occupy my time reading, watching TV, knitting or surfing the net. I spend a lot of time on the internet. Searching for a cottage in the country for sale or maybe a vineyard in Italy – somewhere I can run away to and make this all magically go away. 
 
Finally, as I sit by my window I will start to hear the birds sing. Quietly at first, just a few early risers, then the chorus will move into full swing. Robins, thrushes and tits hide in the trees along the embankment, breaking the quite of the night. Then the other signs that a new day is beginning:  the first bus of the day will rumble by, a milk truck clatters along the road. Then slowly the sky will start to lighten, first by the Eye then drawing its light across towards the west. Everything looks so clean and new in this fresh morning light. Oranges, yellows, pinks and purples paint the clouds in the sky. The sun, still hidden from view by a nasty tower block reflects its light off the buildings to the west like a beacon on a light house. The air is always cool, even in the summer.
 
As I stay in the window, commuters start to make their way to various jobs around London. If I continued my watch, I would soon hear the shrieks and cries of young children with their mothers on the morning school run. 
 
It is now a new day for London, but still yesterday for me. I suppose I might as well make myself a cup of coffee as sleep has evaded me again tonight. 
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