7am

The perfect morning was just kicking in. I picked up bananas and strawberries for breakfast and pedalled slowly to the park, taking in sighted snippets of the beginnings of strangers days. A caught glimpse of someone closing their front door, or a few folk propping up a bus stop positioned within slithers of the new sun, or a couple of olders pruning roses in small patches of front gardens. But mainly focussing on other people riding bikes, obviously riotously rejoicing in the same idyllic conditions that I was also meandering along in. Beneath these blue skies, everything seems calm and content. Everywhere I ride lashes back brilliant and random memories that have stored up over the many years of pootling about this city, evoking and conjuring all sorts of nostalgic but consistently happy thoughts. I wonder if I'm frowning when I consider the imminent prospect of once again peeling ourselves away from this beloved place, but decide instead to relish in the moment of this beautiful morning and appreciate radiating moments as they happen. I leap off the saddle and find the gap in the hedge, I rest my bicycle against my cabin and stand for a few minutes gazing at the park's stadium of a green rainbow, knowing that the whole day ahead I'll be painting in the sunshine and listening to music, and that later on I'll be meeting up with an even more handsome rainbow of friends to feast our way thick into the evening.

It's 7am, and at this moment I find it really important to appreciate, well, everything