Thus endeth another weekend

Just got back from an evening of watching telly chez romney; oh what a life I lead.

Given that the walk back was around midnight I was a little put out to find that the arctic weather the Met have promised us has yet to materialise. Certainly it's chillier than when I went around there earlier this evening, but that was five-and-a-half hours ago and it is dark so that's pretty much what you'd expect anyway. Other than a fine dragon breath, there was nothing. Not even a sharp frost.

I have to confess that I'm disappointed.

We rarely get snow in London and what we do get sticks even more rarely. So the promise (100% chance, mind) of heavy snowfalls for the first time in years, and temperatures of -7 with a wind chill of -14 sounded promising. And yet neither a flake nor a gust. How upsetting.

My plan of failing to turn up for work in the morning on account of the 8 foot snow drifts looks like being stillborn.

But then since when have we been able to depend on the British weather for anything?

Having said that, despite a self professed tolerance of cold temperatures, I have noticed as I rapidly approach my 45th (or 23rd 21) that tolerance is somewhat diminished despite the subcutaneous insulation I have been patiently accumulating for most of that time.

Oh well, time to iron a shirt and then shower and beddy-byes.

Good night, England (and good evening, New York, good afternoon LA, and happy Monday lunchtime, Sydney).

Thus endeth another weekend

Just got back from an evening of watching telly chez romney; oh what a life I lead.

Given that the walk back was around midnight I was a little put out to find that the arctic weather the Met have promised us has yet to materialise. Certainly it's chillier than when I went around there earlier this evening, but that was five-and-a-half hours ago and it is dark so that's pretty much what you'd expect anyway. Other than a fine dragon breath, there was nothing. Not even a sharp frost.

I have to confess that I'm disappointed.

We rarely get snow in London and what we do get sticks even more rarely. So the promise (100% chance, mind) of heavy snowfalls for the first time in years, and temperatures of -7 with a wind chill of -14 sounded promising. And yet neither a flake nor a gust. How upsetting.

My plan of failing to turn up for work in the morning on account of the 8 foot snow drifts looks like being stillborn.

But then since when have we been able to depend on the British weather for anything?

Having said that, despite a self professed tolerance of cold temperatures, I have noticed as I rapidly approach my 45th (or 23rd 21) that tolerance is somewhat diminished despite the subcutaneous insulation I have been patiently accumulating for most of that time.

Oh well, time to iron a shirt and then shower and beddy-byes.

Good night, England (and good evening, New York, good afternoon LA, and happy Monday lunchtime, Sydney).

(no subject)

By dose is blogged.

Thad is all.

(no subject)

By dose is blogged.

Thad is all.