Today was meant to be the start of my sabbatical, a glorious month off work filled with nothing but books, tea, ringing builders, selling all my furniture and being mithered to death by my parents about making a start on the fabled home improvements.
Instead I am at work, because it proper, proper snowed last night. Unlike the usual faint covering which is generally a slushy, piddle-stained mess by 10am, London is all lustrous and white and filled with children shrieking with joy and bouncing off walls, parked cars and trees with excitement because school is cancelled.
No buses are running at all, which makes the streets look wrong. They and black cabs are so much a part of the way the city looks that when they're missing it registers
I can get in from where I live, unlike people who were foolish enough to go live somewhere nice and leafy like Kent. Being in has gained me lots of praise which makes me feel intensely uncomfortable, like the worst sort of swot.
The entire country (by which I mean England, not Scotland or Wales, because they are too sensible) has gone completely off its box because it has snowed, all proper like. We have access to a picture grid for the agencies here and there are 2,390 pictures under the search term "snow" just today. There are many pictures of dogs and foxes shagging in the snow, "to keep warm, nudge nudge wink wink", and at least three photographers would appear to have gone to their local zoo with the sole aim of taking a picture captioned "Arctic Monkeys".
Oh, photo agencies. Never stop being classy.