Sitting here waiting. The sound of distant traffic interspersed with fireworks. London waits but for what? A storm which will uproot mighty oaks which have stood unmolested for centuries surviving all that the elements have thrown at them. Public transport in chaos, not leaves but whole trees on the line. Confused commuters milling around in search of that most elusive of objects – a train! Wind buffeting pedestrians. Street signs sway precariously. An overturned rubbish bin rolls merrily down hill.

Or perhaps it will pass London by. Perhaps. London waits, holds it’s breath waiting for the storm.