A cold day in London is lazy, clouds overhead and people meandering.
You leave your flat with coat and scarf, your boots clapping on the pavement. Should you walk or take the tube? You could sit on benches all throughout the city just to listen to Londoners talk. Maybe the queen is home, whom they call "mother". Maybe a local pub can warm that latent chill in your fingertips from the light morning snow. A foamy cappuccino will do; that's the ticket.
The breeze is damp but your coat is thick, everything smells like rain in the most pleasant way. It's a Saturday, so you stumble on a hidden collection of market tents, the smell of warm bread and curry drifting out to you. You peruse the cheese tables and observe the crowds, everyone is jovial because food unites us.
The cold may banish a number of tourists, but it certainly doesn't deter the brave street performers or the die-hard wanderers. The streets are still full of people, locals and tourists alike. The silent buildings observe the sullen city streets, ancient and dull in the muted skylight. The old and the new sit side by side, chipped brick and stone to glass skyscraper.
The little bit of sun begins to vanish altogether, the evening peaks through and the chill deepens. Time for fish and chips and warm glow, time to unravel your layers and let your fingertips out to grasp the glass of cider.
The night lights begin to flicker on to illuminate your way, Big Ben shimmering green along the rim of his hat.
Sweet London town.
(see all wanderlust wednesday posts)