It's January. We all have to talk about snow, so here goes...

I spent most of this morning listening to the snow melting in the sunshine.


We've been largely snow and ice free round here this week (unlike Helminthdale, where a layer of ice hung around the pavements like last season's dog dirt). Yesterday tea time it started snowing properly for an hour then spent twice as long pouring down with rain, which made for an adventurous trip to the Co-op.

Then it started snowing with a vengeance.

The Small Object of Desire spotted it first: the sky had gone quite orange (the local light pollution bounces around quite remarkably in the snow light). I had a quick dekko out of the front door: big, big fluffy flakes of the stuff. Luckily we had no reason to do any other but to batten down the hatches for the night, herself gleeful 'cos she loves snow, me less so 'cos I don't like sliding around and falling on my arse. The Cat I Don't Have snoozed carelessly on the lady's lap (in between having a yawn and falling off the sofa). Winter Wonderland bliss of sorts. Right up to bed time. Which, of course is when the cat realises that it needs to go out for a crap. This, in turn, means that I have to hang around while the daft pillock gets back (we don't allow her a latch key because she keeps losing them). Sigh...

The plus side is that I got to spend ten minutes watching a couple of courting foxes running round the playing field across the road, which was quite sweet. The cat, quite understandably, has other views on the matter, as was made plain when she came back in a few minutes later.