I eagerly watched the weather reports all week to see details of the snow in the northern parts of the UK and severe weather warnings issued in Scotland and northern England. Hearing that the snow would reach London on Friday, I headed to bed on Thursday in a fit of excitement, hopelessly anticipating the beautiful white scene that would greet me as I rose on Friday morning. What did I get when I woke up? Rain.
Stupid, slushy rain that is to snow as I am to Barack Obama. I'm slowly giving up hope of ever seeing a white Christmas in London. In my head, I've already drafted, scraped, re-drafted, and composed a stern letter to the Met Office complaining about their rubbish forecasts. We're only eight days away from Christmas Day, and I will be keeping an eye out for the snow I've been promised. If I don't get it, next Christmas might need to be spent in Norway. Either that, or I'll lose my sanity. (Or, at least, the little bit I have left).