Oh baby, it's cold outside
I say cold, it's damn well freezing. We're talking hot water bottles, extra blankets on the bed and whisky-laced hot milk. Oh maybe just whisky.
So really I'd better scurryI had another early morning, doing a hundred mile round trip for work. Up before the dawn, I got outside to find frost patterns etched on the tarmac with tiny glistening halos about the occassional piece of grit. I was on a train with three other people (four if you count the driver) heading into the depths of North Devon as the dawn rose.
Beautiful, please don't hurry
well Maybe just a half a drink more
Put some music on while I pour
Outside everything was silver: the clouds, the frosted roofs and trees, the frozen floodwater on the fields and the torrents in the rivers. As the train rattled along, a flock of white birds suddenly rose up and wheeled across a darkly silhouetted hillside, the icy water below them.
It was the sort of image that, if you saw in a film, you would say was impossibly contrived but it was almost worth being up before dawn for. Almost.
Now where's that whisky?