When I was 17 and had just started work in the City Dad would often give me a lift to and from work. I would sit in the front seat of the estate car smelling the paint and golden Virginian whilst listening to Terry Wogan discussing episodes of Dallas. Dad and I would laugh at his comments. As we drove through Camden he would tell me about buildings he had worked in and how he’d painted this ceiling or that corridor and the next week he would tell me the same story even down to the colours he had used. When we reached Goodge Street he would tell me about relatives who had had restaurants and shops in the area and how they had worked hard to move out of the area and he would say if only they had kept those flats and shops in Warren Street… and yes the following week it would be the same stories. We would eventually reach Farringdon and he would ask me if I had time before work for a coffee. We would sit in a snack bar and order bacon rolls and milky coffee and he would ask me about my job. I would tell him about the Hatton Garden diamond merchants depositing their diamonds in the vaults of Barclays. Eventually the time would come when I had to be in work and he would finish his roll up and after paying hand me a paper bag with a cake in, kiss me goodbye and tell me if he finished early he would be in the same spot to pick me up. I didn’t realise how special those moments would one day become. I miss you Dad and wish we could have just one more drive and breakfast.