The onset of snow is a thrill, no doubt about it, Ooooh we go, Aaaah we go. That white blanket is both indicatively fresh and experientially unusual. We've even light candles, and Julie's gone for the Kalua.
We went out to Columbia Rd, our usual Sunday penance, but this time there's blokes, Italians, literally falling over themselves to take photographs of me and even some mad lady with leaflets for the British Museum (something about an Ice Age) says she loves my look!...Such a kind face!! she says, like I'm some kind of dog. At this point Julie's face is dark with thunder. I don't generally put on a look for anybody, although I understand it is not done to go out in Shoreditch without full regalia looking like something out of the nineteen forties in ginger hair whipped up like a French horn. I probably looked kind because there were no idiots duetting barbershop and no ukulele strummers and no busking Joe Strummers that usually really piss me off. That was a relief mistaken for benevolence.
After all this admiration, all caused by fortuitous weather conditions, we came home to savoyarde potatoes and bacon. Nothing like going with a theme.