I quite like walking to the tube in the mornings. I saunter; swinging my packed lunch and reading book in my bag (red and blue with a pig's big round face). I glance around me and smile. There is often little to see. Other people are in bed at 6.50am.
A cat feasting on a pot of yoghurt and some chicken bones from a black plastic sack.
A man, complete with too-short trousers, canvas record bag, shaved head and hat and who screamed Hare Krishna at me (not literally - we're talking appearances), carrying a red bucket of steaming hot water on the tube to Canary Wharf and then onto the Docklands. He alighted at Island Gardens same as me. Where was he going? Why had he carried his own water with him for the past 15 minutes or so? (Not that he had that much left - he was slopping the water everywhere. I narrowly avoided an accident with my new chocolate brown suede boots). Bizarre.