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Ah, yes, I remember. This country goes slightly crazy when it shows. As if a natural occurrence in this climate is some kind of cataclysmic event.
It’s snow, folks, snow. Deal with it.
Having said that, am quite like the rest of the country when it snows It’s like the seven stages of grief.
You wake up in the morning, confused, trying to work out why the house is no bright. Then you see the snow and you go into that romantic phase. ‘Ah, isn’t it lovely.’ And it is. Place looks like a fondant sculpture.
You have your coffee (or, for you British weirdos, tea — though how you can start your day with anything other than coffee is beyond me) and you stare at the window, marvelling at the beauty of the snowy landscape. You wish you had thought to dress in a thick-knit jumper with one of those rolled necklines o you can better look the part.
Which is when you go through the whole fantasy stage. In the fantasy of snow you have this amazing wardrobe with Abercrombie Fitch ensembles which make you look cute, yet comfortable, and oh-so-warm. Your beanie actually looks good on you and your hair cascades underneath it in voluminous, soft shiny curls. Your skin is milky-white, like the snow and your lips are pearly red. There’s a slight flush to your cheeks from the cold and your eyes are bright and smiley.
But then — yep, you guessed it; reality. Your clothes make you look like the Michelin man. But you’re still cold. Your beanie looks like your mother’s tea cosy, flattening your heart an unattractive state. Your hair is frizzy and whips due to the moisture in the air. Your nose is red. Rudolph red. So are your cheeks. In fact, your entire face is blotchy. Your lips are dried and cracked — the only redness is the bloody seeping through. And your eyes are watering from the wind. Basically, you look like Jabba the Hutt if he’d spent the last six months crying. Then there’s the whole annoyance stage. You spent forever getting dressed in twenty different layers but hen most of your day is spent removing said layers whenever you walk inside, before having to put it all on again when leaving. You spend the entire day wet from the knee down.
If it’s a work day, you spend most of it frustrated. Traffic is horrendous, they haven’t gritted the roads and it took twenty minutes to try and de-ice your windscreen. Which, you know, makes you angry. And exhausted; going through all these emotions in one day. But we won’t mention exhaustion, because that would make it eight stages of snow, which wouldn’t really work.
To be honest I didn’t really go through that many of them yesterday. There was certainly a romantic, fantasy aspect to everything but given I spent the entire day inside, I wasn’t really affected by the other stages.
Haven’t seen Landlord all weekend. Am kind of apprehensive. After what I found out Saturday I’m worried I”ll find it hard to look him in the eye. To come face-to-face with him and not do the whole head-tilt ‘are you okay’ gesture. There’s also a concern I may hug him for absolutely no reason. Which would be weird for both of us because I’m not a hugger and Landlord would be wondering why am hugging him in the first place.
I guess I’ll find out soon. The moment I’m done here with this blog, my coffee and two more cigarettes, I’ll be heading up there.
Wish me luck.