Sub-zero
Friday and crunched back over the ice and snow from Lorraine's house. In her street, this being Brighton, a snow version of the Eiffel Tower was taking shape.
The steep Guildford Road, onto which my Twitten leads, a deathtrap and I was lucky not to fall, even though I was digging in my walking stick with its bitey metal end. Safely home, I worked on copy about Normandy for the lovely French client.
All this sub-zero life makes me think of Toby and Romy and Joan and Dick. I'm now only beginning to be able to vaguely imagine how isolating months of real Canadian snow might feel.
Below construction in Lorraine's road.
Friday and crunched back over the ice and snow from Lorraine's house. In her street, this being Brighton, a snow version of the Eiffel Tower was taking shape.
The steep Guildford Road, onto which my Twitten leads, a deathtrap and I was lucky not to fall, even though I was digging in my walking stick with its bitey metal end. Safely home, I worked on copy about Normandy for the lovely French client.
All this sub-zero life makes me think of Toby and Romy and Joan and Dick. I'm now only beginning to be able to vaguely imagine how isolating months of real Canadian snow might feel.
Below construction in Lorraine's road.
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