This morning, for the first time in years, I heard a cuckoo. I was walking around Regents Park, the early morning mist hanging heavily over the grass while shards of sunlight pierced the haze and grey silhouettes emerged around me.
It had been years and yet instantly, the distinctive sound of the parasitic bird took me back to my childhood. Bedtime in the summer when it was still light, the sounds of the older village kids playing outside meant it was impossible to sleep and daylight mingled with the frustration of being a child.
And the sound of the cuckoo ringing through the woods.