Not sure if it was the sound of the fridge going off (it's a small flat)or the mess of the clocks going back that means i'm a wake. After the usual sleepless stuff pillows,cold feet or cold shoulders i end up wondering if john humphries is awake yet . In his car being driven through the finally empty streets of west london.
Then the first plane goes over full of weary travellers ready for 24 hour croissants ,bad coffee and the chug of taxis at Heathrow.
Then the woman that shouts in our block wakes up and starts shouting.
Just then the fridge comes back on and the next plane full of bad pastry eating cab riding hopefuls comes over and i reach for my phone to write this.