Some people are saying it's going to snow again tomorrow. They are lying. I predict a light drizzle of sleety vile substance, and then a good downpour of RAIN on Thursday to wash all this half arsed grey-white residue away. Then the sun will shine madly, temperatures rising to a balmy 12 degrees on Friday. Birds will tweet, dogs will once again lie in the warm rays on the porch, and we might venture outside with less than eight jumpers on.
I could be wrong, but am wallowing in new found optimism after huge close-to hibernation sleep yesterday.
Shouldn't moan anyway. But then . . . why the hell not. Some folks love snow; my friend is in the Alps on the family sking trip. They love the fact that it is -15 and there is more snow than they know what to do with. I don't. I prefer it to be at the other end of the spectrum: 37 degrees, fine.
People always seem to say that big heat is worse, and at least in cold weather you can put more layers on.
There is a limit to how much clothing you can put on at once and still fit though a doorway.
Here is a pic of the tiny three legged beast barking at a terrifying recycling bin just out of the frame.
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