I love waking up in the morning, opening the curtains and being unable to see anything more than fifty yards away. It's always better out in the country, where there's nothing close enough to be seen through the mist so all you get is a wall of grey cutting you off from the world but even in towns and cities it can be a lovely sight. That's because fog lends even the most ugly of landscapes a mask of beauty. A nasty concrete tower block is transformed into something other, more solid at the bottom than the top.
One quality of a foggy morning that is more evident in the city is the peacefulness. The only sound when we stepped out of the door this morning was of the refuse truck lumbering slowly down our road. There was no hum of traffic from the nearby north circular or rumble of buses on the High Road. Even once we were on the High Road the normal bustle was muted somewhat.
I think the thing I like most about fog is that it has connotations with a bygone age. We associate thick fog with the peasoupers of the Victorian era and so that allows us to escape from our own time for a little while in thoughts of the past.
The only sight that I want to see early in the morning more than that blank grey wall is a thick blanket of white. But I'll save that for another day.