Gongoozling along Little Venice's canals, I came upon a heron loitering for its breakfast in the grey overcast dawn. The heron eyed me, then took flight. There was the suggestion of a sunrise behind the broken blinds of the old sky. I carried an umbrella. My beloved lay sleeping back at her father's cousin's house. What are we doing here? I asked myself as the need for coffee began to press. I returned and turned the key in one lock and the other, opened the door and found my way to the quiet kitchen, the household not yet risen, discovered light switches and a coffee maker with pods. I fumbled with the device until I bent it to my will.

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