After teasing us with flurries all week, the weather has finally settled down to snow with intent (or malice aforethought, for the world-weary cynical sorts). Since my boss has persuaded me to take tomorrow off reparation (retaliation?) for a weekend worked earlier in the month, I have cracked a bottle of Norfolk Punch, sliced up a lovely wedge of cheese (Wensleydale with cranberries), lit a scented candle, and opened the blinds to the wonder of a clean white world. Perhaps the wonder wouldn't be so great if it hadn't been seventeen years since I lived where there's a proper winter. But at the moment it is, and with the snow covering the trees and ivy behind the house it feels like I've stepped into a small corner of The Children of Green Knowe.

The other reason for relishing the day off tomorrow is that ATC (Australian Transplant Colleague), who has never seen snow fall before this week, has quickly figured out that enough snow means snowballs, and snowballs mean ambushes, and ambushes mean fun -- provided that she's on the delivering end of the ambush.