AN EARLY START FOR MARCO POLO

I was going to walk this morning. As it happened, my foot didn't feel quite strong enough to take on a 70-minute hike down the hill.

So I swung my rucksack over my shoulder, locked the front door behind me and headed for the car.

I love early mornings but they're so difficult to get up for - especially after a sleepless night.

This morning the sky was a rich, fresh blue and the air was ice cold. Bright white contrails stretched in neat lines over the world, from the golden horizon to the slowly fading stars above my head. The air was silent, except for a wood pigeon cooing in the distance.

It's the time of day when anything feels possible. The whole world is a blank canvas. I really like it.

What would be great is if the world could look like that at 8:45 instead of 6:20. Perhaps then I could love the duvet and the sunrise in equal measure.

Alternatively, I could just start going to bed earlier, going to sleep at a normal time and waking up early without feeling like I've had a brush with the grim reaper.

Additionally, it's worth pointing out that what makes that time of day so beautiful might be the effort required to see it. In fact (and I don't want to seem antisocial at all) it could have something to do with the fact that nobody else is up.

I have similar feelings about tourism. The Eiffel Tower is great, but these days you have to factor two hours of queuing into the experience. The Grand Canyon must be really peaceful and dramatic but the more accessible it gets, the more likely you are to share that peace with coachloads of chattering, camera-flashing, hamburgers in Hawaiian shirts.

I've got nothing against tourists; there are some things I'd want to see on my own. In fact, there are lots of things - and maybe one day I'll get the opportunity to explore the world and adventure across the globe like Marco Polo, or Vespucci, or Lewis and Clark.

I threw the rucksack into the boot and clicked it shut.

I'd have to get up early, I thought to myself.