This morning sees an unusual juxtaposition …

It is January.

There is snow remaining on the ground (just).

It is cold; the mercury is below freezing.

There is a really hard frost on everything.

There are even roses with frost on them.

The air is still and there is steam rising vertically from everyone’s boiler vents.

I shall be wearing a sweater.

No, it isn’t Siberia … it’s WINTER. In England. At last!

And this is how it should be.