My face is pressed against the glass door. I am a sardine on the London Underground and my shirt already needs changing. No room for crosswords or socialising.
Then I awake, I am not in the City, I am home in Caernarfon. Work is 29 miles away, but what a great journey.
Rush hour is a dozen cars at the Bangor Road roundabout. I head alongside the Menai Straits and within 10 minutes I am climbing the Felinheli by-pass. To the left I see the morning mist coating the Straits. To the right the shadows melt down the mountains and the summits are defined.
After five minutes the car turns North West and over the bridge to Anglesey. The road is mine as all traffic is travelling in the opposite direction. In the mirror, Snowdonia looks on fire as the sun rises behind it. The road ahead is showered with an orange glow and the signs reflect this brightly.
The radio is on and everything in life is relaxed. It seems too good to be true. It isn't.
The journey home features the low flying Hawk aircraft, then as the space opens up past Valley, the western sun strikes the North face of Snowdonia. This gives the mountains a rugged brown texture that would suit any Spaghetti Western.
Turning South West after the bridge, the sun is in front of me. In a city, buildings would stand in the way but not here. It is at times like this that I am grateful that I will not be commuting underground again.
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