under another sun

Another exhausting night of coughing and feeling positively ill again. The world white this morning, as the 'beast from the east' had delivered a thin blanket of snow in Brighton for breakfast. More like the Lapdog from Lapland. Lorraine up early to go to school, but due to the snow and ice, and the steep camber on the road meant she was unable to escape and had to abandon her car touching a neighbours. She left a note on it, and a bit later, another neighbour showed up having run into the back of her. Everyone involved teachers and no harm done. Later she was able to drive off the car, and park it nearby. I got up early and finished a certain amount of the French work, sent them what I had (several concepts) and told them I was too ill to continue. I heard nothing from them afterwards so have no idea how this went down, fretting a bit about this. But spent the rest of the day dozing or lying on the gold sofa and really happy Lorraine was at home, and looking after me nicely....

Into the white wilds of Brighton Calliope woke me sliding her catfoody chops on my face. Hard frost overnight, and a little more snow. Worked on my poems this morning, finishing one about the clock my grandparents had in Guernsey, which disconcertingly dongs when you pick it up, even though it is not wound and now lives in a box. I was contacted by my French clients with a brief on some digital work promoting Normandy, which at least is a part of France I have been too. Quite a handy drop of work right now, while it is virtually impossible to get out there and schmooze. In the evening off to see Lorraine. Walked there, feeling rather adventurous, and grateful for my walking stick with its jabby end, and wore many layers and a fleecy hat and walking boots. Some treacherous stretches, and the ice cracking underfoot, and the snow and air sparkling on the edge of the park. Really nice evening with Lorraine and Dawn. Dawn brought some mulled wine with her, and we drank this and ate a Christ...

Snowbound The city ground to a halt this morning with a couple of inches of the stuff. Buses cancelled and abandoned cars at crazy angles in the streets. Luckily for me, snow does not interrupt me, but as the cat hates it I have to put up with the bored feline sitting on my desk and biting my hands as I type. Gripped by a short story idea, so writing this much of the day, as well as writing Christmas cards. Made it down as far as the Station postbox. The street my Twitten leads onto is very steep, and after testing it, I returned home armed with a walking pole and grippy boots to make the arduous thirty yard journey. A woman was there searching for her husband's keys he dropped having fallen this morning. People slithering downwards. It is a death trap. Lorraine, her car abandoned, came to my house this evening after the buses had resumed, and we lurked indoors, eating a hot curry I'd made. The view from my study this morning.

Commute fail The heaviest snow since the early 90s has put paid to my journey into London this morning, not to mention my freelance day's wages. No trains at all to London. Seems like it is a snow day. It is still snowing in Brighton (though the snow isn't particuarly thick in the protected city centre where I live). A few shots around the station and of my Twitten. Feels like risking life and limb to walk in Brighton's sloped streets. Below my Twitten, around the station, and Calliope, on my return, rejecting the snow and all it stands for.