The bleak mid-winter and beyond

So we're in the grips, or depending on who you hear it from, death throes, of the coldest, snowiest winter that Britain has seen during my lifetime. I sway between gazing adoringly at the flakes of snow and relishing the squeak of fresh snow beneath my shoes and ranting to anyone who will listen about how much I wish I lived somewhere with permanent heat and sunshine, with none of this irritating ice and sole-destroying slush. Either way, this bleak winter isn't going to get me down. Because when you live in one of the world's great cities, there is always something to do.

So, spurred on by a visit from friends from California, I have seen the dubiously-acquired treasures of the British Museum and learnt about rocks in South Kensington, taken High Tea and seen as much of the interior of St. Paul's as one can without paying the steep entry fee. And, of course, I have partied. New Year's at Scrutton Street warehouse saw the wonderful Boy 8 Bit and many others spin dazzling electro to East London's finest... and softening cement coated our shoes. The bars of Shoreditch don't seem to suffer from people's alcohol-renouncing resolutions, and Dalston Superstore's glorious sense of camp fun was in full swing as ever last wednesday as we quaffed wine and played, er, ping pong. When the snow falls, we just make sure not to fall down. Literally, figuratively, or otherwise.

And we had a White Christmas

Firstly, a belated Merry Christmas to you all.
Secondly, as those fortunate enough to dwell in the many areas of Britain that experienced the fabled cultural-meteorological phenomenon will know, this year saw the first real White Christmas that I can remember. And most likely, the only one of my lifetime thus far. Though temperatures have now started to creep back above freezing point, much of the UK actually experienced real, cold, snowy winter weather for nigh on two weeks, and, come Christmas morn, I looked outside and, lo-and-behold, all was carpeted in white.
I have to admit, I didn't venture into the subzero air to fully embrace this glacial benediction on the great day itself, but when on the night of the 23rd my friends and I saw the snow begin to fall (I mean really fall) outside from the bar in which we were quaffing, we reverted to the children that truly everyone is deep down and frolicked, screamed and generally threw snowballs for a few minutes of festive bliss. In the centre of town - beats sophistication any day.
I also am proud to have contributed to quite a large ball of snow, which you can here see me stood upon.
Who would have thought precipitation could be such a source of joy?

The annual winter weather panic. Mon Dieu, les Anglais.

Despite my sometime attempts to distance myself as some kind of nebulous 'citizen of the world' or 'internationalist,' I guess that deep down we really all are a product of the place that we grow up in. And I'm British. It's snowing outside and I'm going to get excited about it. Okay, okay, so half an inch and a few blizzards isn't something necessarily worth getting all worked up about, but the fact that it's - gasp - December and it vaguely resembles a bad Christmas Card anywhere near to a Church, park or Old Building means that the entire country has been given free reign to wax lyrical, and as I presume we will see by the morning, turn into a state of mass panic. If we get the forecast four inches (eight on high ground), there will be transport closures, offices closed, emergency service shutdowns, blackouts... everything. For some reason major cities like Moscow and Montréal deal regularly with months of feet of the white stuff, but we can't seem to cope with a few hours or a light dusting. Changing from tube to bus at Kings Cross I ambled past assembled masses unable to take the train home, following general cancellations - all this from a little snowfall. I have to admit, as it doesn't directly affect me (yet, at least), I find it all very amusing. And who doesn't like a feeling of occasion? To fall in with the old Christmas song cliché, my feelings are: let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.