Lukewarm Cold Afternoon

The angles of the house across the Drury passage are steeped in these Saturdays. This is because I only ever see it - in daylight anyway - on Saturday afternoons. It feels like spring out there, that warm but cold spring air. I hear the sound of a car, a seagull, voices. Probably coming from the seats outside the coffee shop.
Everything seems sharpened. Though it is warming, and the days lengthening, they lack the lazy, hazy air of deeper in spring, or even summer. Air that cuts like a knife - though it is warming. A lukewarm cold perhaps. The light that falls in this room is blue and sunless.
No sun falls here. I sleep in a room where the windows face north.
There is a privacy here that is appealing though, something quiet and restful and out of the way. The bright and sunlit lounge feels too much a part of the Mews, a part of the people living opposite, the workshops below. Out here, at the back of the flat is a world away from it all.
The only time I don't like seeing it is when the alarm clock goes off in the mornings and I would much rather be asleep.