First snow of the year

Aurore Sandeau said recently she felt there should be a word for the first snow of the year, it's a beautiful concept and one I wholeheartedly support. If any Inuits read my blog, enquiring minds want to know what the word is. So yes, after something like 4 hours sleep I got up for work this morning, opened the curtains and saw the first dusting of powder this year. It's been so unseasonably warm to date, I had wondered if it was ever going to snow again -- which was daft, really, since it almost always without fail snows in February.

Yesterday, I took a day's holiday from work -- San and I had tickets to see Ben Folds, so originally I planned to just finish work early -- this changed however when I arranged a job interview for the morning, and it made sense to combine the trips. Unfortunately, on Monday I got a phone call to say my interview was cancelled because the position had been filled, but I figured I'd still take the whole day off -- I'd made plans, dammit. And, as planned, I headed into London early -- to buy cuff links, of all things. I also needed to buy a pair of gloves, I had checked a couple of local charity shops first, since I had some romantic notion about buying second hand gloves and imagining the stories of their previous wearers. Typically, I couldn't find any. Oxford Street was bitterly cold and I wished I had worn a scarf as I trudged up and down the road. At one point I was stopped by a monk -- you could tell he was a monk from the shaved head and the gown -- who introduced himself to me. I said hi, and asked how he was, and he enthusiastically asked if I was Irish. Confused, I told him I wasn't. Unfazed, he told me he was selling books on yoga -- and showed me one such book. I told him, "Thanks, but I'm good for books on yoga right now". The rest was uneventful; I found some gloves relatively cheaply and settled on a pair of obsidian set cuff links. I also bought a birthday card for Fiona. I met San on Oxford Street about 1, as she'd said she had errands to run and would meet me. I secretly hoped that her errands involved buying me a belated Christmas present, or an early birthday present. But if they were, she kept it very quiet.

San and I played scrabble most of the afternoon and watched music channels on the TV with the sound turned down.

The gig itself was good, if not exactly amazing or life-changing -- I wasn't a huge fan to begin with, and only agreed to go because San asked if I wanted to and since I was saying "yes" more. Off-topic, the "say yes more" thing? It's not easy. I'm reluctant to closely follow Danny Wallace's example, since I feel it was more luck than judgement that after running up several large credit card bills he still lived happily ever after. I've reluctantly said no to many things, Madame Boffin invited me on a month-long pilgrimage along the Spain/France border, but I had to turn it down as I can't afford to take a month off work. I frequently still say "no" to charity muggers, to junkies asking if I can "spare some change", and to phone calls asking if I want to work in media sales. I also ashamedly say no to going to the pub on a weeknight when I have to be up at 6am for work the next day. Or if I'm going to the gym that night.

But back on topic, San invited me to Ben Folds so I said yes. The music was catchy and quirky enough to hold my interest, even if I barely knew any of his solo stuff. Perhaps predictably, the crowd seemed more enthusiastic about his old Ben Folds Five material than his solo work. Support came from the eccentric Clem Snide, described as "alt.country/indie-pop" and named after the novel Naked Lunch, the particular highlights for me were the songs "I Wasn't Really Drunk", and "The Ballad of David Icke".

When I eventually got to my car, it was gone 1am and I had to chisel it out from a block of ice, I'd also parked in the farthest reaches of the station car park to make the walk that much colder. I rolled into bed about 1.30, and woke this morning to the snow...