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An early sunshine-laden Lincolnshire morn with a splattering of low lying mist, the dawning of a new day, each one fresher than the one before. All exactly as Inga Larsson loves early mornings, even from her younger days back home in Sweden. Each virgin day bathed in such delicate light, bringing with it endless possibilities, and any vain attempt to look into the future hides the realities of what indeed does lie ahead. On days like these, she considers it such a shame half the world is still asleep and will miss the delights of such a unique early morning atmosphere. For Inga, there was nothing more invigorating than cycling in fresh air at that time of day. Heading from her home along the banks of the River Witham into the cathedral city and back. Except that July Sunday morning, she never made it.
