It sounds daft, but this is the best part of my day.
It’s ridiculous on the face of it, I’m sitting here in the middle of the perpetual traffic jam that is my morning commute, almost bumper to bumper with an idiot who almost killed me a few minutes ago by swerving off the slip-road without looking or indicating. But as soon as that sun starts peaking out over the horizon I feel a strange calm wash over me.
This happens each day, I’ve started purposefully getting here at the same time every morning in order to enjoy the sunrise through the cranes. As the traffic grinds to a halt and my car automatically shuts off the engine as part of some ridiculous fuel saving measure, I shut off the radio, take a long deep breath looking out over the shipyards and the rest of the world melts away.
All too soon, of course, reality rushes back with a vengeance. Some genius starts honking their horn as if they were a vehicular pied-piper and their blaring instrument of choice is all that’s needed to move this massive swarm of multi-coloured metal and plastic vermin. I know that soon I’ll get off the motorway and head to the grey windowless box I call an office to click my day away until I emerge, exhausted, into the darkness of a January night. There’ll be nowhere to park, I’ll be subjected to tales of what Sandra’s kids, or Molly’s bloody cats, got up to last night and have to feign interest. I’ll be overlooked and ignored by my boss as usual, while Barry chatters on incessantly about how much he loves this “great place to work” as he drinks the last of the coffee. But I can deal with all of it, because I’ve had my little moment of zen and I know that it’ll come around again tomorrow morning.
Dear God, please never let them finish that bypass, I’m not sure how I’ll cope!