I look out of the window at the roofs and at the steps that lead to the grass and it seems odd that the entire country is in disarray over what I call a ‘dusting’ of snow. Maybe it’s down to one too many North American holidays in the midst of blizzards; maybe it is down to walking-to-school remembrances when show was five feet deep until March or maybe it’s just down to a reasonably unfazed attitude that accompanies me everywhere I go. By which I mean... according to me it ain’t really a problem until people die... And of course, six-hour delays from New York when on hols, three-hour delays from London on a weekly basis, -25C in Illinois, the East Coast blizzard of 2003, the Buran blowing from Russia in 2002 and a habit to wear three pairs of wooly tights because you-don't-understand-I-am-going-out-anyway-the-sale-is-on-at-Saks do one heck of a job at making one impervious to snow. You look outta window today and go: 'What snow?'.
Whatever it is, I like to stay holed up at home, even though I must confess to having spent half an hour defrosting the Shaguar this morning because I sure as hell wasn’t gonna be stranded for no cataclysmic reason. So I went out for light bulbs and some extra anti-freeze, for some biscuits and two sticks of bread and because it seemed fair enough to try the road out before I go to the airport to pick my parents up tonight. If they manage to fly over, as it’s -10C at their place although not that unusual, as they live near the Alps. I am looking forward to having them to stay so that I won’t have to worry about one damn thing for three weeks and so that I will put this Royally Shite Year behind me in a feast of Monopoly City and tea and Irish coffee and stollen. And maybe a little something from Harvey Nichols as well...
