Liminal And Inchoate
Around five in the morning, London’s birds begin to chirp in the traditional manner whilst lorries make thunderous noises and deliveries. The motorways rattle to life. Their intrusions bounce off the high-caste hyphenated surnames of Upper Brooke Street, near Grosvenor Square, where I listen. In this rough ballet, London’s sleepers toddle to the loo then try to go back to bed. There’s got to be a proper word for these first moments of a weekday morning, but what is it?