People always start with the weather. You get in a taxi and kvetch about the rain. Or you meet someone for lunch and you both begin by remarking on the cold.


It is bloody cold, at the moment. But a nice kind of bloody cold. That kind of clear-skied, twinkly-starred kind of bone sharp, crystal-dry cold I'd forgotten about after a couple of wet, mild winters and a long, drizzly, mildewy summer. Living where I live, it never gets life-threateningly cold ( the sort where, if you walk outside, your snot freezes). It just rains an awful lot. It's a wonder we don't all have moss growing up our legs.


I've begun with the weather. And I said I wasn't going to be predictable. Bugger.