Moved back to my own house yesterday, the end of an 18-month academic adventure. It felt good to sink onto a crisply clean sofa and mess around in my own kitchen surrounded by the scent of pine and vanilla, free of flatmates once more, my own tiny chunk of London behind a brick wall and a locked gate.
And when I woke up this morning – a beautiful carpet of snow. Up to 50cm deep and drifting up to metres against the gate. What a great metaphor for my new life: a blank canvas, pure and untouched, just waiting for me to carve my mark into it. London is mine.
(I go all ‘Calvin and Hobbes’ in the snow.)
Today the Tube may be out of action and I’m working at home without broadband, but I’m smiling through it all. It hasn’t stopped snowing yet. It’s made for a great start to the week, but somehow I don’t think I’ll be skydiving on Saturday.