It is cold in Oxford. Very cold. The sort of penetrating cold that manages to creep into one's bones despite radiators on, three layers of clothing, and a duvet. The temperature is a little below freezing (28 F), but the wind chill makes it feel at least 10 degrees colder than that.
There's something about the insulation on our front door that catches the wind and produces an eerie moaning sound. It's like having our own local ghost. Our ghost's name is Willoughby Jr., and he's been carrying on noisily all day -- something must have upset him. It was probably my recent effort to tidy the house by putting things away in the cupboards under the stairs. I suspect he lives in there when it's not windy.
It was snowing this morning on my way to church. And then again on my way home after choir. No signs of sticking, but definitely snowing hard enough to taste the snowflakes.
I'm off to make another cup of tea!
1 comment:
How odd, Sunday was unseasonably warm here. I hope the warmth wafted from us to you this week...
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