These dark London nights seem somehow unlike the winter nights of Cheshire. They feel darker and colder, more alien, as if people seem more distant. Everyone is, of course, in a hurry to get back home to the warmth and the light, as they would be all over the country. Countryside, town or city, a winter’s night is a winter’s night. Yet here in the capital, that urgency is more pronounced: cars zoom by, and people seem to walk a bit faster.

I was just out with Lyn. We went to the coffee shop around the corner: we have a new personal assistant to train up, and that is a good place to start. My dad had came to visit this morning; it was good to see him, as ever, and after he had left we felt some coffee and cake was in order. It was quite dark when we got home, but, despite that, I felt like a short walk, just for some fresh air.

And so I went, through the parks, along paths I now know quite well. It was cold, though, and before long I decided to head home,, but before I did I decided to take a look at the view I once described here. London may seem alien and cold sometimes,, especially on a dark winter’s night, yet it is also beautiful. Canary Warf, lit up at dusk like a thousand photos of Manhattan, looks magical. It is an image powerful enough to chase away the coldness in an instant, and with that I turned for home, thinking of my father, my family, but most of all the wonderful woman waiting for me.