“I have said about that night that it was a night like all the rest, a night beginning so usually I wasn’t even looking when it happened. But going back over it now I can see in how many ways this was not in the slightest true. For one important exception, a heavy fog had folded us up into its cold grey blanket. For three days we’d groped and gasped our way through a London from which streets, pavements, cars, even buildings and people had been quietly erased. A London no longer a city but a great cold, glowing field where the refraction of the street lamps, unable to pierce the fog’s opaqueness, none the less lit up the vast loneliness with an eerie yellow glow.”
Elaine Dundy, The Old Man and Me