It was quite expected, the snow. The weather's been quite wonky nowadays in that it never snows in winter proper but sure enough, it'll blanket us in March right just before it get warm. Been like that these past few years. Some say its global warming. Others noted that due to the slight errors in the Julian calendar system, the seasons creep up so perhaps in a hundred years or so, we'll be eating ice-cream in March and pie in July. Fireflies in the sky, seeing blue in the rye, oh why, why. Why?
As if that's going to matter to me. The only things I'll be eating in a hundred years is mash if I'm lucky and dirt if I'm not. Plus, the way my cash is scampering off like middle-aged businessmen from a raided whore-house, I'd best stick to my canned rations and pasta. Not that it's good, and doubtful if it's healthy, but it's cheap. The prospects of early dirt-eating grow brighter by every meal.
Yes, the snow. It was there when I woke up in the mid afternoon as I always do (to my credit, it's not entirely due to my sloth, it's actually tactical: if I wake up later I wouldn't get blinded by the sun). It was a good two-inch of cover. True to form, while others across Essex rolled up the meager amounts of snow into snowmen and giant upright cocks, I stayed in and played Silent Hill 4. Whee.
Weird in that how just a few months ago we had this house-warming barbecue, and now it snowed. Admittedly, it was an ironically cold house-warming barbecue with us dashing outside to throw some meat onto the fire before running back in and shutting the door. Neighbours must have pegged us for nutters.
Brings everything into perspective, really. Just a couple of months left till we vacate this house. I would quite miss it, with the comfy couches and the room that I've grown into. Still, c'est la vie. Life goes on. Hopefully the landlord doesn't notice the huge hole in the carpet, the broken pipe, the busted shower cord and the stained sofa; that 250 pound deposit really would come in handy for the holidays.
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