“The morning always has a way of creeping up on me and peeking in my bedroom windows. The sunrise is such a pervert.”
For the past few months I have spent many of my weekends in Bristol, a place that I love for far more than just the fact that my favourite person lives there. It’s a city that has a lot to recommend it – great coffee, liberal vibes, inordinate numbers of fashionable young people – but the thing that I have enjoyed most during my visits of late has been watching the sun rise over the city from the top of Whiteladies Road. The view from the attic flat in Clifton where I stay is a stunner; a perfect vista over this undulating city built by some idiot who clearly didn’t own a bicycle. On clear mornings it’s impossible to resist leaning out the window to drink in the city skyline spread out in pastel pinks and blues. The skylight frames a view that stretches right out over the roofs and smoking chimney stacks to the rolling horizon under a crisp and streaky sky, interrupted only by tiny clouds of birds and my own breath.
I’ve always been a terrible morning person, but getting to wake up with someone I adore and squares of sunlight at the end of the bed certainly gives one a reason to get up and do the day.