The first morning of lockdown arrived, and with it a chilly air and a thick blanket of fog.
As if the weather had encapsulated the mood of the nation, it hung, heavy and dense, covering everything in an other-wordly haze. It lay impenetrably around the wide bends of the river, crept around the ancient walls of the Tower of London, and obscured the modern skyline from view as it did so.
The lure of the strange half light was too strong to resist. I grabbed my camera, and blearily peddled my way towards the river, praying the struggling sun wouldn't burn off too much of the fog before I got to my destination. My luck was in.
Although London has a reputation of being very foggy, this is a little outdated view. At one point in time, London suffered heavily with smog, and is often stereotypically imagined as a city of streets filled with thick fog, men in top hats moving sleekly through the narrow alleyways.
Having lived in London for over 15 years, I have only seen proper fog a handful of times. When it happens however, it is pretty spectacular. My aim for this morning was one of the most recognisable landmarks in London, and my staging post for arrival into the city centre from home, Tower Bridge.
It loomed into view as I wiggled along the river, tantalisingly far and clearing all the time. I crossed the bridge, the cold air nipping at my ankles. Arriving at an almost deserted Tower Pier, the bridge was still languishing in a pool of haze, with the pier in front providing a beautiful clear foreground to the images.
The Shard was playing a game of hide and seek, the top of the building lost in the sky, and as I watched, the fog came in visible waves across the skyline, alternately hiding and revealing the south side of the riverfront. A beautiful misty morning in London, followed by the sun burning off the fog, and giving me some wonderful shadows to play with in the surrounding streets.
