Windswept raindrops sweep across the passenger window as we drive past a wet and soggy Hyde Park. The sky compliments the concrete in hues of grey and the pavements gleam with wet reflections throughout the rainy morning drive.
The outdoor seats of cafes are abandoned, lacking any hint of life.
Looking up, the high rise flats seem all the more gloomy, while down below, a woman puts a plastic bag over her head and makes a run for it, squinting as she goes. A man in a red rain coat calmly wheels his pink shopping trolly behind him, adding a welcome splash of colour to the dreary scene.
A closed down floristry shop called Fuchsia stands empty, not a flower in sight anywhere around it, as the rain continues and the skies grow darker.
We pass Finchley Station, observing the florist stall outside it getting a welcome watering, and offering a vibrant welcome to the eye.
Traffic crawls out of London with the rest of the morning’s escapees, while beads of rain pelt the windscreen, as if the city is crying to see us leave.
The motorway greets us with a dark grey misty view, lit only by the headlights of oncoming traffic on the other side, and the break lights of those ahead.
It’s the middle of July, but you’d never know it.