(Covered in snow)
It's raining white frost again, making the British temperature drop to silly, silly cold and icing up the pavements so pedestrians walk in the cycle lane, and cyclists are in the road and no one very much is driving. This kind of weather always gets me thinking about the things that I pop in a little box, in the corner of my mind, marked "FOR WHEN IT SNOWS" in big black letters just like that. This morning I began pondering over whether I should go back to university and take my Masters degree. Either creative writing or publishing... or maybe Geology, then I could tick it off my list. I also thought about quitting work and taking a year out to finish writing the novel I started, but then I could have done that before I got this job and I didn't so what would be different? There are no guarantees that after having taken a year to finish and perfect it, the manuscript would be published or picked up by an agent. These are risky times and risky thoughts are running round my head screaming "Put me on paper!".
In my head I have a wonderful image of my immediate leave to France, where I would rent a small cottage and live and write there until... Until what? Until it stops snowing. Until I have an entire manuscript. Until my dreams come true.
Yes, these are all the things in my head, but there is nothing quite like my imagination.
PSSSSST... This song by Laura Marling is spectacularly snowy.