lifting the fog

As the alarm goes to mark the start of another day, I pull myself out of bed and into the staple sport shorts and tee. Powered by an apple and weetabix (a rare strike at owning a healthy diet), cap twisted on, I swap the cosy confines of Lochaber street for an all too familiar car seat. A well-practiced 3-point turn and the sunny, dewy home of Roath falls back into the rear view mirror, as I turn onto the M4. A 3 hour drive ahead. But just like any other.

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