Some mornings...

One of the most wonderful pleasures of my daily life at the moment is waking with my boy, and if he's not busy and heading home, he gives me a lift to work.

And I escape the ignominy of standing on Parramatta Rd while the full buses roar past.
I escape the walk on a grotty city street and down sticky stairs to the train.
I escape even the occasional twinge of terrorist wonder - I feel almost embarrassed to admit to it, but after all, it is peak hour and I am on a train in tunnels under the city centre.
I also escape the funereal plod of suits up the steps at my destination.

Instead we fly with traffic into the morning sun, sharing stories. And if I don't have to run into work, we go and have a coffee together, and sometimes toast. The barista lass remembers my order, even years after I've forgotten what it is.

It is, quite possibly, one of the best ways ever to start the working day.