Snow Globe vs Snow Cone

Lucky I flew into London when I did, otherwise I would've either been stuck in Dubai, or sliding off the runway at Heathrow. A few hours after landing it started snowing. Which was pretty exciting because I've never actually seen snow falling before. It was like waking up in a snow globe the following morning. Everything was covered in a soft white blanket, it looked like a postcard. And it snowed, fluffy flakes of frozen water floating down from the sky. Still it snowed... and snowed. To the point where it was the heaviest snow fall that London has had in about 20 years. What is it with me and extremes? Last time I was here, it was the hottest summer they'd had on record. I'm like freaking El Nino.

So after enjoying a day indoors - some would say trapped, I'd say enforced R&R courtesy of Mother Nature that allows me to sit on my arse for a day in a foreign city watching the entire series of Flight of the Conchords without feeling guilty, something very strange happened. This beautiful white fluffy snow turned, and it turned bad. Ice ice baby. Now, that in itself isn't that bad a thing, but when it is located on the footpath it becomes slightly interesting. It's like being in the middle of an episode of Funniest Home Videos. It's rather sneaky, this ice. It's Jeckle and Hyde ice. You think you have a handle on it, then you take your next step and it's almost arse over tit. What is great is the BBC in these situations. Apparently people falling A/T is national news. So they set up a camera on a busy crossing somewhere in London, and proceeded to spend the day filming poor innocent saps flying through the air and landing where the sun don't shine. It's so mean, but so funny - it's ok for me to laugh because I almost fell over a few times myself... almost.

So, what is it London? Delicate, peaceful and pretty snow globe, or hardened, evil, grit flavoured snow cone?

I guess it's snow cone, with a side of freezing my nuts off thanks. Jesus, it's cold. I mean, it isn't THAT much colder than say Melbourne in the winter, but when you've come from 38 degrees, it may as well be the freaking Arctic Circle. Actually, I think that's on the Picadilly Line. And already, I am over the layering. It's a daily ritual to spend a good hour layering yourself up with nearly everything you have in your wardrobe or suitcase. Only then am I ready to waddle out to reality and attempt a trip into Oxford Circus. Then it starts. Layers go on, layers come off. Layers go on, layers come off. It's like this pain in the arse dance that one must perform upon walking into a store. Outside it is 1 degrees, but inside it's about 30 degrees. It is doing my head in. I can only manage about 4 hours of being out and about because a) wearing so many clothes at the one time is making me so agitated that I literally want to grab someone on the street, take them by the collar and just scream in their face, and b) I'm so sick of going from being so cold that my flesh feels like a corpse to so hot that I'm sweating like a schlepp. If I don't end up getting really sick, it'll be a goddamn miracle.

At least today it's raining. That's something a bit different. Then some of this evil ice might finally melt away. I tell you, London is really turning it on for me. What will tomorrow bring? Hail perhaps? Sleet? Fog? Only time will tell.