I am not entirely sure where my love of early mornings came from but perhaps the seeds were sown by the occasions that I would stay with my grandfather over the school holidays, even though he lived just around the corner, it still felt like an adventure.
He would knock on my bedroom door at just after 5am, where more often than not he would tell me that breakfast was waiting, two boiled eggs and perfectly browned doorsteps of toasted white bread and good old fashioned butter.
After helping with the washing up, we would often be headed out for a walk somewhere blackberrying in the summer, mushroom foraging in the autumn and still be back before 11am.
My early forays these days follow a similar pattern, the early train to a local venue in the early spring and summer to capture the new day, camera of course at the ready.
With trains not starting to run until after nine am on a Sunday, I will more often than not be found walking along the local quay and riverside paths here in Exeter, day 41 being one such day.
Sunday mornings always feel more laid back, the one day of the week where the world seems to slow down a little and take a bit of a breather.
I enjoy the peace and solitude of these brief few hours before the city comes to life, the way the light changes as the sun makes its ascent into the skies above, the random chats with fellow early risers going about their own Sunday, that flask of tea I always carry with me to enjoy somewhere along the way.
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