I manage to wake up at 7:30, contrary to all (or at least, my) expectation. Well, I wake up at 6:45 (when the alarm goes off) and get up at 7:30. It is very cold indeed.
After breakfast, as I’m sitting staring into space, I’m distracted by the distant sound of a car alarm, which I realise (when it fails to abate) is actually the sound of the fire alarm inside the building. Further time is spent contemplating what I’m going to do, to whit: going downstairs and turning off the alarm (if I don’t encounter any smoke I’ll assume it’s a false alarm). The front door is open: the workmen with the hydraulic arm have plugged an extension cable in in the hallway and are using electricity from our meter to do something with the arm. Also, it’s a winter wonderland out there.
My body refuses to countenance the idea that I’ll bathe in such arctic conditions until 10:00 (which is when I’m supposed to be at Walker’s), but eventually I do so and leave the house, remembering to take my camera with me. It’s a long time since there’s been any snow at all in London (1995, apparantly) and even longer since it’s been this impressive (I think it was 1991 – it was snowing so heavily that I managed to acquire a “hat” of snow, which a passing wag complimented me on).
There’s already a snow man in the park of the Imperial War Museum.
So I get to Walker very late indeed. Turned out Dickensian, again…
The snow has variously melted and hardened and crystallised and started to get grotty when I walk home. It seems to be less cold than one imagines it ought to be, but it still gets into one’s bones. Think pleasant thoughts: soon it will be summer and I’ll be complaining about the heat. Hurrah.
Sad news on Metafilter: Oolong, the rabbit on whose head his owner put things, has died. Oolong was first mentioned on Metafilter on the tenth of September 2001, and so has come to represent something, though I’m not sure precisely what. The fact that the site is in Japanese (and so nothing but question marks on my browser) adds more charm.
The punishment of Brian Aldridge continues apace. Hell hath no fury like Peggy Woolley in a snit.