Brrr!

It's snowing. Quite hard, actually.

Nothing like last year, and I don't think it's going to linger long, but - yeah. Brrr. The boys were quite stubbornly snuggly last night, despite my restless unsleeping, and this morning I think I'm getting frostbite. I shall be hacking my own fingers off shortly.

Even so, I should probably go to the Lit & Phil. I have a book to write. And I have fresh-baked bread, to make ham sammiches for lunch; and the Silence Room is warmer than anything here. Who knows, I might even thaw. (Also, every time I go into town I bump into someone else who's heard something but not the whole story about next year. Yesterday it was David Almond; he was writing upstairs while I wrote downstairs. He'd heard I was US-bound, but not about the marrying. Day before that was Anne Fine and Alexander Armstrong. Hee. All my famous people...)

So, yup. I must make an Expotition. I shall follow my own footprints, and end up walking in circles, as you do.

Shhh...

An unexpected meeting; an exchange of whispers; cryptic agreement, and a sealed package handed over in the gloom of an abandoned basement.

Karen's Xmas pressie is secure. Now all I need to worry about is whether I get mine. She has to come a long way, you know. *scowls at the falling snow*