It is snowing in London today. The worst in 18 years, says Danielle’s cabby, and more set for tomorrow. Most of the tube is down, or severely delayed – not the Victoria Line, strangely – and my office is just about empty. Which is okay for me, because I’ve taken my shoes and socks off and sequestered a small portable heater that was on a colleague”s desk to warm my toecicles, legacy of a mis-step into an icy puddle only metres from my door.
Climate-change is brilliant! Picture it, Britain: a Winter Wonderland for six months of the year, and a humid, tropical oasis for the other six. With resulting destructive and violent storms in between, of course.
The walk this morning was fun. The city is pretty under a layer of the white stuff, but there”s not much chance to look up and admire it – eyes down on the treacherous icy foot paths and snow-covered cobblestone lanes, else it’s argon over titanium for a bruised and wet behind. And I don”t think the few people in the office would appreciate me “dropping trou” and drying my undies on the heater the way I can with wet socks …
It’s warmer, and thicker, than when it snowed in Edinburgh. The wind is icy, but perhaps the built-up office blocks provide more cover against it. Overhead, a grey ceiling looms like an enormous doona (duvet) stuffed with snowflakes, trapping what heat comes from buildings and people and cups of cocoa and warm crumpets. Oh dear, I’ve made myself hungry.
Do I venture out? It”s snowing again now, I can see through the windows, laying down another layer. Think I”ll dry my socks first …