Yesterday I shovelled the equivalent of a whole block. Whether it would have melted anyway before today's temperature plunge I know not. Shall find out when I attempt to reach the local coffee house for my latte, but I expect to be confronted with large patches of ice, just as the same locales on Wednesday confronted me with ankle-deep lagoons of slush. (I noted last night that some good soul had removed the metre-square plinth of packed snow at the entrance to the alleyway, that my shovel barely dented.) A result of my virtuous and only slightly self-interested exercise might be today's kilo drop in weight from yesterday, but then again maybe not.
Also, perhaps Buddhist reading goes so well with London Falling because the latter, alone among Aaronovitch's Recs, is really truly scary. McLeod- Bitter Seed of Magic Larbalestier- Magic Lessons Larbalestier- Magic's Child Li- Gold Boy, Emerald Girl Larbalestier- Liar Webb- The Obsidian Dagger Spence- Return to Dragon Mountain
Pathetic, but much of my reading time was occupied with Arang and the Magistrate.
Theory is I have two days off work next week. I shall be poor but rested. Though in fact I expect to be rich and hauled out of bed by desperate phone calls, one of which I just dodged yesterday.
