Every morning the police horses trot past my house. There are about 20 of them - all identical in colour, in rows of three with a rider riding the middle horse and holding the other two by the reins. During winter, you can see the steam coming out of their nostrils, the traffic lights go red, cars and buses stop and the rider at the front blows a bugle. The horses trot past, heads held high, sometimes jumping sideways at a strange sight such as the road cleaning machine or a kid with a balloon. The horses are my alarm. As soon as I hear their clip clopping I know it's 8am and I need to get out the door if I'm to catch the train to work in time.
Labels: Hampstead, London