So I have been in London for just over a month now, and although it has been good to relax and see the family, the hankering to hit the road again, and for warmer climes, has returned. Usually I prefer the cold weather, and snow in London was a delightful prospect. At least that is what I though until returning to my home country of 10 years. I now realize that being cold is shit, and makes going outside, getting out of bed, and bearing ones naked bottom to the toilet seat, a daunting prospect.
I find myself craving the sweat and burn of the Mexican sun. Especially now that an inch to a foot of snow is forecast for London in the next week or so. Sure the snow will be pretty, covering London with a blanket of that ye olde feel, but it also means it is going to be even colder (Yes I know it is not coldest when it snows and blah, blah blah, stop being a smart ass!), and a couple days after the snow in London, the streets will turn to a muddy mush of slippery death. Schweet.
Snow in London, probably not a surprise to most
We have already had an icy white covering just before Christmas, I have however been informed that this was only a hoar frost, unfortunately named as it is, it was not the real deal, the real snow is yet to come, and will bring with it a genital shrinking, jaw clenching cold which will make the grey clouds and cold wind even less inviting than they currently are. The pasty skin and dark rings under my eyes have returned, and you can’t even tell that a month or so ago, I was complaining about the heat in Mexico, while brandishing a very fetching tan.
When one imagines snow, they think of snow men, snow balls and cheese fondue. At least that is what I imagine. The truth is though, snow in London means not taking the dog for a walk, spending a lot of time inside, smoking and drinking gallons of coffee, and holding in my bowel movements until the pain becomes too much.
I am considering modifying a pair of my warm tracksuit pants to help with the frozen derriere conundrum, my plan is to cut a circle out of the back, leaving just enough tracksuit to prevent connecting with the icy porcelain. This would mean having to change clothes every time I go to the toilet, but is for sure a better alternative to subjecting the poor mother to my now translucent backside, regardless of how often she says “seen it all before”.
I haven’t done much in London, I have done stuff, just none of the touristy things, because I lived here for 10 years, and they are about as exciting to me as shaving, sure it is nice to see my face again, but it’s never as appealing as I imagine it to be. Now that the snow is forecast, and London will become a “Winter Wonderland”, I am even less inclined to make my way to the bus stop, wait for twenty minutes, get to the tube station, wait for twenty minutes, cram onto the tube, wait for twenty minutes, get off the tube, walk through the snow, and look at a few buildings next door to my old workplace (I used to work across from Saint Pauls).
So far the only sort of sightseeing I have done, was to visit a graveyard in Ealing Broadway, morbid you might think, but my family have a surprising way of making lots of dead people seem funny, it is quite a talent.
Instead, when the snow hits London, I shall peer out of my window, say ooohhhh, aaaahhh. Boil the kettle, light a fag and retire to the couch to surf the internet and stroke the dog (an actual dog, not a metaphorical one, I’m staying with my mum and that would be way too weird, actually, I know she will read this, and that is weird enough).
So to the snow in London I say…meh, what-evs, do your worst, I was going to stay inside anyway.
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